#pasf

“ - the important part,” Sam went on, ignoring the comment he’d probably expected, “Is to focus on your exhalation, which initiates something different - other hormones - to calm you down. So it’s best to take that nice and slow. That's your parasympathetic nervous system.”

“Activate parachute, got it. Free-falling becomes smooth coasting through a cloudless summer sky.”

“If that’s what helps you remember it,” said Sam, “Then yes, Gabriel. Pull open the parachute.”

“Listen," Gabriel told him, "I’m pretty sure we’ve talked about deep breathing before, and I suck at it.”

“I thought it might help to get more specific about what happens when you do it, so that you know why it’s helpful. It helped me to learn about that. A lot happens to the human body when it gets like …” He gestured vaguely to what was in front of him: Gabriel, still trembling from the taste of a nightmare at the back of his throat as sweat coursed down his neck and both fists spontaneously clenched and unclenched against the tangled blankets. “This.”

“Well, it’s a good thing I don’t have a human body, then,” Gabriel replied. “Otherwise I might be a mess.”

Sam tried to smile. “Do you - ”

“No. No, I don’t really want to talk about it. I’m sorry for getting you out of bed. It’s just that I thought - ” Gabriel shook his head and looked down at the bedcovers clutched between his fingers. “I was so freakin’ tired when I fell asleep that I was dreaming about being tired, Sam. Kept trying to get up off the floor of that cell and find you, but Asmodeus wouldn’t let me, and I was too exhausted to pull myself to my feet.”

Sam nodded. Perhaps there was more physiology to be expounded upon with regard to the liminal space before waking waking, the crack in between that allowed for bewildered shouts for assistance, but Sam was tactful enough to withhold any further lectures.

“So I thought,” Gabriel continued, determined to complete his explanation, “That Asmodeus was in the room. I really did.”

He looked around. He couldn’t help it. He knew it was foolish, but it seemed even more foolish not to check.

Sam frowned at him.

“I was admiring the architecture,” Gabriel offered. “I’ve grown excruciatingly fond of this glamorized speakeasy you call a home.”

“Okay. I guess that's ... good. You want anything? Water, maybe?”

Gabriel turned his gaze downward again, debating whether to ask Sam to shift his weight so that Gabriel could properly pull the covers over himself. He decided against it: if he asked Sam to move, Sam might either take offense or understand the request to mean “leave and shut the door behind you.”

“Christmas crackers!” Gabriel hissed, pounding a fist against his own knee.

Sam looked horrified. “What are you doing? Gabriel, what's wrong?"

“I - ” Gabriel tried to remember what Sam had said about breathing - parachutes, right - and tried to exhale, then realized he couldn’t exhale without first exciting himself by inhaling, and came to the conclusion that the entire process was a self-defeating hoax. “I understand exactly what’s going on.”

“What? Going on with what?” When Gabriel didn’t answer, Sam pressed: “Has something been hurting, and you just figured it out, or - ”

“Geez, you really are in doctor mode tonight, aren’t you? I meant I know that I’m not in danger.”

Sam furrowed his brow. "Is that not good?"

“What isn’t good is that I’ve known that for months now!”

“I’m still not - ”

“What use is there in trying to convince myself that Asmodeus is gone when I still feel like he’s next to me or waiting for me or on top of me or - I’m starting to wonder if it’s worth the amount of effort I put into it every day!”

“I don’t think it’s that weird that you’d have a hard time finding common ground between what you know and what you feel,” said Sam.

“I didn’t say it was weird. I said it was pointless. Unless maybe I’m not trying hard enough; but man - I’ve been giving this everything I have in me.”

“It really hasn’t been that long, you know,” Sam reminded him. “You were in Hell for a lot longer than you’ve been with us.”

“So it’s going to take another truckload of centuries to bridge the gaping maw between what you’ve taught me and what he did to me?”

Sam spoke carefully. “I didn’t mean that. I was just trying to say that if you really want to focus on being rational, you’ve gotta factor in that imbalance. The time you spent in prison versus the time you’d had without Asmodeus manhandling you - that’s not a fair fight, so try not to be so rough on yourself about it.”

“Except,” Gabriel pointed out, feeling his chest tighten against Sam's audacious refusal to acknowledge Gabriel’s failure, “There was no gap when I had him breathing down my neck. I knew I was in danger and I felt that way, too. It wasn’t unreasonable to be cowering on the floor. Things are different now - I know there’s nothing to be afraid of, but my whole alarm system has short-circuited.”

“Yeah,” said Sam. “That’s usually how it works.”

Gabriel clenched his jaw and mangled the sheets in his fists again. “This isn’t funny.”

“What? Of course not. I know that.”

“Then stop talking to me like I’m a cute idiot, Sam. I don’t care how typical any of my behavior is; I want it to stop and you’re hearing something completely different. Just because you’ve got the knowledge and wisdom to smile and nod like I’m learning to walk for the first time - ‘Oh, look at this; it’s okay, we know he’ll stop falling even if he doesn’t know that yet’ - doesn’t make this any less exhausting for me.”

Sam looked bewildered. “I wasn’t laughing at you. I was trying to help. To remind you that - ”

“Shut up, okay? I know. I know. And that’s what makes it so difficult.”

“I just thought it might help you to know you’re not out of the ordinary for feeling the way you do - you know? I figure it’d only make me feel worse if I thought I was the only person to get stuck in the middle of what I knew was true and what I felt was real. I feel that way all the time. I’m not trying to preach to you. Or laugh at you. Why would I do that? I’m hardly in a position to brag about healthy recovery, am I?”

“Now you’re pleading!” Gabriel snapped. “I don’t want to feel like I hurt your feelings in addition to everything else!”

“Look,” Sam pleaded, because he was guilty of exactly that, “You and I are on a level playing field.”

“It sounds like you think you’re better than me.”

“Why would you even - I don’t think that at all, Gabriel.”

Gabriel pounded his knees again, thinking about the nightmare still sitting inside of him, exactly as real as the pain that resulted from hitting himself. “Well, you are, so maybe I shouldn't bitch about it.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Sam reached out and caught Gabriel’s fist before he could repeat the childish self-beating, the goal of which Gabriel felt might become clearer with each blow. “I wasn’t trying to prove anything. Maybe I said it the wrong way, but I really, really, truly, honestly meant that it’s normal to feel stuck like this. To know what’s the matter with you, to know what’s real, and to feel something totally opposite. I feel that way every day, Gabriel. And I definitely wasn’t trying to make light of it. If it came across that way then I’m sorry. I really am.”

“Oh, don’t be.” Gabriel tried to extricate his fist and Sam let him go. He thought about hitting himself again, but it seemed ungracious after Sam had made the choice to trust him with his own hands.

Sam’s voice softened. “Listen, Gabriel: you really need to sleep. I think that’s part of what’s got you so on edge.”

Gabriel almost said, Oh, is the baby getting cranky again? Let’s put him down for his nap but instead replied, “Or maybe it’s the quality of the sleep itself. I mean, if nightmares were the only issue, that’d make sense - I could figure that out. Maybe. But it’s the fact that my whole body is just flooded with the stuff.”

“That ... um ... feeling you get?” Sam asked.

Gabriel understood his hesitance, knew that Sam had never been able to comprehend what this “feeling” was - but perhaps that was simply due to Gabriel’s ineloquence. He had used adjectives like “dark” and “warped” to describe the tang that this feeling cast upon the world, had tried to articulate the deeply visceral flavor of ethereal horror that wrenched him out of the present and cradled him in the greasy jaws of memory.

Words, however, could not give shape to this feeling, even when Gabriel drew upon all his lifetimes of speech and his countless languages to try and force the feeling's essence into description. Yet it could not be coerced into the confines of vocabulary; it could only be felt, and only disgorged in the small horrible ways with which his near-mortal body was familiar: sweating; trembling; desperate, incessant vomiting when the terror would not abate.

In fact, Gabriel was convinced that this dark, otherworldly sensation probably was suggestive of neurosis unique to him. After all, Sam had never assured him of its normalcy. Maybe it was particular to angels, although he wasn’t sure he wanted to question Castiel about it. More likely, it was a symptom of the grotesque wrongness that had metastasized in Gabriel the moment Asmodeus first laid hands on him.

“Hey.” Sam touched his arm. “You all right?”

“Yes,” Gabriel answered hoarsely. “But that isn’t how I feel.”

“Nightmare still on your mind?”

“No. I … I don’t know.” Gabriel licked his lips. “Maybe I don’t really understand as much as I like to believe I do. Sam - ” He tried to meet Sam’s eyes but Sam was still clutching his arm. He didn’t mind if Sam touched him, or if Sam wanted to make eye contact, but in general Gabriel wasn’t willing to do both at the same time. “You don’t think I’m disgusting, right?”

“What? No. Of course not.”

“Okay, but I do. I think that I’m disgusting, and I also feel like I’m disgusting. Like - in the way that maggots crawling over a decomposing body is disgusting. It’s not the corpse’s fault for rotting and it’s not the bugs’ fault that they feed on it. It’s just disgusting for what it is.”

Sam recoiled, and Gabriel jerked his head up. I was right.

Sam’s features had taken on the flush of anger. “I don’t like that at all.”

“Neither do I! What, you think I was just spouting a poetic monologue? It’s what I see, Sam. It’s what I feel.”

“But that’s just … Jesus. You’re not like that. That’s a horrible thing to say about yourself.”

“Then I’m sorry I said it! Look, you’re proving my point!”

“That’s just such a - look - ” Sam closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

“Pull the parachute, Sam,” said Gabriel, trying to ignore how fast his heart was pounding in response to the irritation in Sam’s face.

Sam opened his eyes. “Gabriel, I know you feel like you’re tainted or - or just bad, or whatever, but I hate to hear you talk about yourself like that.”

“Well, how am I supposed to believe it isn’t true? Based on what happened to me in Hell, I’m probably not that far off.”

“You are, though.”

“I’m not, though.”

Sam stood up.

Gabriel scrambled backward, slamming into the wall and toppling the pillow from the lip of the mattress to the floor. He had a split second’s regret - I could have used that for protection - and then several moments of quiet waiting, moments in which he was not sure what he did, moments in which he heard nothing and saw only darkness.

Then he heard his name, repeated gently over and over; he remembered where he was, and realized - with a spasm of humiliation - that what had felt like minutes probably had not been more than a few seconds. Both arms were thrown over his head as a makeshift shield - a fortress that had never proven effective against his attackers.

With arthritic slowness, Gabriel unfolded himself.

“It’s okay,” Sam whispered. “It’s okay. There we go. It’s okay. It’s all right, Gabriel; it’s all right.”

Gabriel nodded. He did not look at Sam.

Sam held out a hand, uncertain. “I’m sorry. I got a little - ”

“It’s fine.” But Gabriel was suddenly overtaken by such a violent urge to cry that he lay back down, bereft of the pillow, and turned away. “I just - ”

Sam waited.

“I forgot to activate my parachute,” Gabriel finished, and crushed his teeth together against a sob that jerked out of him like a seizure.

“Ah - ” Sam sounded shocked and unsure. “Oh man. I’m sorry.”

Gabriel knew that he was. It would only serve to make Sam feel worse if Gabriel were to vocally lament that he was terrified of giving voice to his deepest despair lest Sam lash out. Even if it was due to helplessness or to fury toward Asmodeus, Gabriel couldn’t handle that level of fire in Sam.

"Here, let's just - let me, um - " Sam tucked the blankets around Gabriel's shoulders, taking caution not to actually touch him. Gabriel had come to suspect that Sam felt most at ease in conveying affection, remorse, and protectiveness through some sort of physical contact. Gabriel often made this challenging for Sam. In fact, he reflected as he felt Sam draw away, why should he feel entitled to refuse Sam the small comfort of touching him when Gabriel was the one at fault for misinterpreting a benign gesture of frustration - especially given that the gesture was in response to Gabriel’s complaining about his poor self-image?

“Listen,” Sam said quietly. “Listen, Gabe - I won’t leave, but I’m gonna give you a couple minutes to calm down. I’m here, but I’m not going to hurt you, Gabriel.”

In the aftermath of the imagined assault, Gabriel was shaking. He listened to his own ragged breathing as he would have listened to a familiar much-hated song that played only because he was too unintelligent to find the appropriate dial to turn it off, while somebody else was forced to pretend it didn’t grate on their nerves and politely wait for the closing notes.

After a few moments, the surge of fear began to soften and the bedroom grew more solid to him. He debated the benefits and disadvantages of trying to halt his tears. Ultimately, he decided, it wasn’t a question of positives and negatives: there was simply not much use in pretending that Sam would have judged him after seeing it happen so often. The impulse to stoicism was there, as it always was - a costume with no remaining elasticity.

“I know,” Gabriel muttered into the damp sheet.

“Huh?”

He turned over, looking up at Sam. “I know that you’re not gonna do anything to try and mess with me. I really - I do. I know that.”

“That’s good.”

“If I could show you as much, I would. Instead you’ve got me whining about my self-indulgent hatred of - ” But Gabriel stopped, afraid to annoy Sam with additional descriptions of (as he’d considered saying) “this cosmic garbage that’s only ever been good for playtime in Hell.”

"That's all right," said Sam, although he looked pale and haunted. "Don't worry about it, Gabriel. Really. Just take it easy."

“You can touch me,” Gabriel offered. “If you - I’m sorry.”

Sam shook his head. “You don’t gotta make anything up to me, Gabriel.”

“I don’t want to get in trouble.” Gabriel gave a tight, nervous laugh. “If you want to, you can.”

“No. No, it's okay. Wait - if I say no, are you going to take that to mean I just think you’re gross?”

“I'm not sure."

“All right. Okay. Well, what do you want?” When Gabriel tensed - he loathed the question, abhorred the word - Sam corrected himself: “What do you need right now?”

“I’m not sure," Gabriel repeated. "I just know I’m sorry for freaking out.”

“Come on, you didn’t do anything wrong. Look, you know me pretty well, I think - and - well, hearing stuff like that can be rough because I want to change it. That’s all. It’s not your fault Asmodeus was such a piece of work.”

“I need to be more careful.” Gabriel smiled, fitfully, feeling delusional and uneven. He didn’t know whether he wanted to come across as serious. “One of these days you might actually get real pissed off. And whatever happens, I’ll have to take responsibility for not being able to control myself.”

Sam’s eye twitched. “Don’t say things like that.”

“Fine. I won’t. I’ll think them, but I won’t say them.” Gabriel was beginning to wonder if he was being difficult on purpose. “I don’t want to upset you; I don’t want to make you angry at anyone; I don’t want to make you sad when I’m afraid of you.”

“Stop.” Helplessly, Sam reached out and grabbed his hand. “You can say whatever you like, Gabriel. I just wish I could help.”

“Hey, you are helping. Like I mentioned, I at least know where I am. I know I’m not actually in danger.”

Sam gave a tired smile. “That isn’t what you just said.”

“Well - then I’m not sure what’s wrong with me. There are things I do know, and things I should know. Maybe I’ve actually lost my whole-ass mind. I believe you, I think. I believe you don’t want to hurt me. I just don’t - I guess I figure that might change.”

“But why?”

“Why wouldn’t it?”

“Because it’s me, Gabriel. It's Sam. It's not Asmodeus.”

"Yes! And yet here we are!"

Sam gripped his hand more firmly. “But that’s okay.”

“It really isn’t. I need to be able to connect the dots better. For my sake, maybe, but for yours too. I need to understand things better. I need to be able to apply what I learn. Looks like I’m screwing up both parts of that process.”

“You need more time. Maybe a lot more time.”

“I’ve had time!"

“Some. Like I said, you had a whole lot more time with him than you’ve had with any of us.”

“I just - ah - I - ” Gabriel wiped his eyes. “I’d just really like it to stop. I could do without the nightmares and without being scared of you or anyone else. And without feeling like a diseased animal stinking up the place. I hate it. I want it to end. I’m confused about what to believe and what to feel and how to act. I don’t want to hurt you and I don’t want you to hurt me but I - but I’m this thing, this nauseating, awful thing that he - that - and I can’t keep doing this because it’s too much for me. I can’t handle it. I can’t handle knowing it’ll probably take another eon before I’m not running away from you, and by then you won’t even be here. And I can’t handle thinking about that, either. I just want it to stop. All of it. I can’t do this." He shivered and tried to remember to breathe.

"I know," Sam murmured. "It's okay. I get it. But you're gonna be okay. I'm here."

"You - " Gabriel shuddered again, feeling sick and exhausted and still plagued by the grotesque haze of nightmares. "You can touch me."

Sam squeezed his hand.

“No,” Gabriel said, “I mean - ”

Sam eased him closer, into a gentle hug that felt undeserved but not frightening.

Gabriel took a deep breath, came close to making a remark about parachutes, and decided he had better not speak.

Since escaping, Gabriel had had instances in which he'd seriously doubted his own intellect. Surely he had simply not been clever enough to break free from Asmodeus; surely only a truly dimwitted being would have gotten so lost in the post-infernal labyrinth between knowledge and experience.

“Well, do you have information? Or did Sam agree to foot the bill just for you to make googly eyes at the bus boy?”

“Jealous, are you?” She grinned. “Samuel, do remind me what this place is called.”

“You chose it,” Sam pointed out.

“Aye, but for its ambiance, not for its name. I had more than one place in mind: count yourselves lucky that I remembered a spot not so far from you.”

“We drove four hours to get here!”

“I could easily have requested just as glamorous a venue nearer your prospective targets out west. You should be thankful, the both of you.”

“Sleepy Cheetah,” Gabriel told her. “It’s the Sleepy Cheetah. I assumed you picked it because you look like one.”

“Shall I take that as a compliment? Tell me, why aren’t either of you boys out in Minnesota with Dean? You’ve got his chariot of choice, so naturally I had to wonder whether he was coerced into these witches’ company, or if he decided now was as good a time as any for cross-country cardio.”

Sam pinched the bridge of his nose, gathered his patience, and replied: “First off, it’s not really any of your business; but when I told him we were going to look to you for guidance - which, for the record, I’m starting to regret - ”

“Hurt feelings, Samuel. You’ve bruised a tender ego.”

“When we suggested,” Sam went on, “That you were going to take us up on our request, and meet somewhere to talk witches, but that you insisted on somewhere several hours from home, it made sense for Cas to fly him out there. Because we were going to need the car as long as Gabriel isn’t - ” Sam glanced at him. “As long as Gabriel can’t, you know - ”

Rowena waved a dismissive hand. “No need for diplomacy. I know there’s still plenty of that road left unpaved.”

Sam sighed. “Listen, I need to run to the restroom. Can you maybe just gather your thoughts, Rowena? Give us some actual advice instead of running up the tab?”

She took a slow sip. “Ach, how my dignity does wither under the weight of such accusations.”

Sam stood up, lips locked tight, and walked away.

Rowena leaned forward. “It’s nice to see you again, Gabriel.”

“Nice to see you too. I take it you’ve been keeping yourself out of trouble?”

“Well now, I didnae show up to your party just to be interrogated.”

“Not even if I ask nicely?”

“Well, just maybe. In fact, however - ” She leaned in closer. “I’ve got a question for you.”

“Ask away.”

She grinned and brought her lips up to Gabriel’s ear. “What is wrong with you and why are you so keen to hide it from me?”

Gabriel jerked back. “Did Sam - ”

“Sam hasn’t told me anything. I’ve been walking this earth and its many sister dimensions for generations. I recognize the signs of panic when they’re laid out before me.”

“I’m hardly panicking! But you definitely talked to Sam.”

She held up both hands. “I did no such thing. If you’ve confided in Sam, he’ll be keeping it close to the chest.”

“Then what’s your problem?”

“No need for aggression, Gabriel.”

“You’re looking at me like the nurses are about to pull the plug, so beg pardon if I’m a little offended. And by the way, what counts as ‘generations’ to you looks more like a holiday weekend to me, so think twice about your spidey senses before weaving a web for somebody that doesn’t need to be saved.”

“I certainly don’t need those spidey senses to tell that I’ve tickled a sore spot. Forgive me for feeling a wee bit concerned.” Her expression soured, but it struck Gabriel as performative - as if she expected that he would want to see a touch of bitterness in her face. “Perhaps I was out of line for thinking I could help.”

“You sound as sorry as a kid who tripped the fire alarm before midterms. Go bite yourself, Rowena.”

“I suppose I should be flattered to have intimidated even an archangel.’

“Okay - ” Gabriel straightened upright. “One: I’m anything but intimidated, and two: I’d be able to turn you into a pile of potatoes and mash it if I was at capacity right now.”

“Sounds sexy. Nevertheless, as a witch, I have to keep attuned to changes in behavior, whether that’s to identify a threat or to home in on a particularly juicy weak spot. You’re tense, Gabriel. I could feel it the moment you sat down across from me. You haven’t even had a proper drink, and barely anything to eat. That isn’t like you at all.”

Gabriel couldn’t figure out why he felt defensive over this comment. “What am I supposed to make of that?”

Rowena gave a silky shrug and reached for her cocktail. “Could be you’d benefit from a pinch of introspection. Shadow-work, you know. Dip your toes into waters that have remained uncharted only because you’re afraid of what might be swimming in them.”

“No time for snorkeling these days.”

“Well, don’t discount it.”

This time, Gabriel felt sure he saw her expression change - but now she looked gentler. “The strongest witch is the one with a private Rolodex of her own vulnerabilities. Come now, Gabriel - why so paranoid? Nobody’s forcing you. It’s just a tad disarming to see how much you’ve changed since we last met.”

“I haven’t - ” But he paused. He both wanted to challenge the accusation and didn’t, and struggled to understand why either response tempted him.

“See what I mean?” asked Rowena. “Forgive me for picking up on a little discomfort, Gabriel, but I’m neither blind nor gullible. I know how to put a few digits together into a number that makes sense.”

A chill crept up Gabriel’s spine. She knows.

It was then that Sam retook his seat at the table and, apparently unperturbed, immediately began speaking to Rowena. “Any thoughts?”

She raised an eyebrow.

“About the coven,” Sam pressed.

“Ah.” She drained her second cocktail. “Have you checked the cisterns?”

“Cisterns?” Sam looked perplexed. “For what?”

“And to think you look so promising on paper. The hex bag, Samuel. The hex bag.”

Sam blinked.

“The Minnesota countryside is littered with abandoned cisterns,” Rowena went on. “And they’re not exactly easy to access or visible to anyone who’s not looking. Tell your brother to check there. That’s where I would conceal my precious cargo, but what do I know?” She met Gabriel’s eyes. “All I can do is strive to be of service.”

“Okay,” said Sam, “Great. Anything else we should know? Like, maybe, how to get into a cistern?”

“What am I, chair of the industrial spelunkers’ advocacy group? It’s not as if I myself have ever hidden a hex bag there; I may have had a coven sister do so at some point, but I cannae recall exactly who. My memory has become foggy in old age.”

“But you think - ”

“I think that’s where I would have concealed it, Samuel. I can only speak for myself. The town you’ve described sounds like precisely the sort of region in which a cistern or well - in this case, the former - would color the intuition of an able practitioner.”

Sam considered, looking wary. “I guess I’ll suggest it. But if that doesn’t pan out - ”

“Then I suggest your brother get his hands dirty on a farm, but only a lazy witch would bury her ammunition somewhere so obvious. Worst comes to worst, you two could make your way out west to assist, could you not? Although, if I may speak plainly, Gabriel - you look like you could use a little rest.”

Gabriel tensed. Rowena, tactfully, drained her glass and pretended not to notice.

The ride back from the Sleepy Cheetah (“She does look like one, doesn’t she?” Sam said thoughtfully as they walked across the twilit parking lot) was silent for the first half hour. Gabriel considered pretending to be asleep, or actually attempting to nod off.

Instead, he told Sam: “Rowena was right.”

Sam glanced at him. “Huh?”

“About me needing to rest. I’m not tip-top.”

“Why not? What’s going on?”

Gabriel paused. “I was trying to find an easy opening to a more difficult subject, which is that she was right about some other stuff too.”

“Don’t love the sound of that.” Sam kept his eyes on the road. “What’d she say to you while I was gone? Should I not have left you alone?”

“It isn’t that.”

Sam waited.

“Then what is it?” he asked finally, when Gabriel didn’t go on.

Gabriel shifted in the passenger seat. “The first thing she said to me was that she could tell I wasn’t … myself.”

“Why do you think she brought that up?”

Gabriel shrugged, although perhaps Sam couldn’t see it in the darkness of the Impala. “Maybe she was concerned. Or curious. She didn’t - I don’t think she was looking to get a rise out of me, or anything else.”

“Maybe she was concerned,” Sam said. “I guess there’s no reason she wouldn’t be, if she picked up on something.”

“Remember how the satori read my mind, Sam?” Gabriel watched the shadows deepen outside the window. “Remember how easily that thing could get into my head? I kind of hoped that would thicken my skin a little, but apparently I’m still as sticky as toffee, because she knew right away how messed up I was.”

“What do you mean? What’d she say to you, exactly?”

“She …” Gabriel considered how to frame the conversation. He wanted to cast Rowena in an insulting light, make her seem prying and taunting - but that didn’t register as true when he thought back to their exchange. “She asked me what was wrong with me and why I was keeping it from her. No - trying to hide it from her; that’s how she put it. And she said I was ‘different.’”

Under the glow of a streetlamp, Gabriel saw Sam frown at him. “Well, you are.”

“Yeah. You’re not wrong. And neither was she.”

“Do you think that’s a bad thing?”

“No. Yes. No. I mean, I don’t like this version of myself. But the problem with the old version of Gabriel is that Asmodeus didn’t like it.”

“I’d take that as more of a compliment than anything else.”

“But it’s not a compliment, Sam; it’s a threat.”

“You know you were Gabriel then, and you’re still Gabriel now. I guess the main question is what that does to you when you think about it.”

“I took pride in being annoying. Asmodeus tried to beat that out of me. And the harder he pushed, the more annoying I seemed to get; and the more I realized that I couldn’t stop being an obnoxious, needy son of a bitch, the less I could get away from it. And the more I hated myself for being that way.”

Sam sighed. “Yeah, this has come up a couple of times, hasn’t it? I mean - you not really wanting to give much thought to what you used to be like?”

“Yes. I don’t want to think about it.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t know.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s why Rowena thought maybe now was the time.”

“But time for what? Time to exhume the corpse of my pre-Asmodeus self?”

“Not necessarily. Gabe, I don’t think that version of you is dead and gone. In a lot of ways you’re not that different.”

Several minutes of silence passed before Sam seemed to understand that he had said exactly the wrong thing.

Gently, without jarring Gabriel, Sam pulled the car to the side of the road. He was more visible to Gabriel now under the grizzled light of a streetlamp.

Gabriel didn’t know what he looked like just then, but his chest was tight and the world had gone dark in a new way around its edges.

“Gabriel,” Sam said quietly.

Gabriel turned his gaze toward the floor. “He brought out something I didn’t know was in me.”

Sam waited.

“Rowena talked about the shadow-self,” Gabriel went on. “She - I know it’s an old psychological concept, not strictly a witchcraft thing, but she talked about knowing her own weaknesses and how important it is for magical practitioners to explore what makes them tic.”

Sam nodded. “Okay.”

“Yeah, um - so what do you think?”

“I think that would mean digging into some of the behaviors Asmodeus targeted on purpose to make you afraid of them.”

“Why does it sound like you already know exactly what those things are?”

Sam hesitated for a moment, then offered his hand. Gabriel didn’t take it, and Sam lowered it again before speaking. “Gabriel, part of why it’s been so hard to watch all this happening to you is because I remember you before Asmodeus captured you. I think maybe I remember some of it more clearly than you do, because you’re so scared to look at the parts of you that he deliberately turned into sources of shame.”

“I don’t know if I have any of that left,” Gabriel said. “Any of that version of me. I’m afraid to ever become anything like what I was because he made it clear that there was nothing redeemable about it.”

“And do you believe him?”

“Of course I believe him. Because if I don’t, then what?”

Sam leaned back in his seat. “You think something would happen to you?”

“Why would I think anything else?” Sam didn’t seem to understand the obvious, and this irritated Gabriel. “What reason do I have to expect that it would ever be safe for me to be that version of me again? What reason do I have to believe that it’s not dangerous to ask for anything, or speak up about something?”

“Well, I like to think we’ve given you a reason not to believe that. Or at least that I have.”

“But - ” Gabriel set his jaw. “Do you not - ”

Sam waited.

When he was able, Gabriel continued: “Do you not understand how powerful he is?”

Sam slid his hands from the steering wheel. “No, I do. I mean, I think I do. His voice - ”

“Not just his voice, Sam. Not just the things he told me. It’s been physically drilled into me that resurrecting any aspect of what I used to be puts me at risk. I’m trying to be better than what he made me into, but I also don’t want to be the thing that made him angry.”

“You didn’t deserve any of what he did to you, though. It isn’t about what you were like. Especially not once he got control of you, and you did everything he said. I mean - not before that either. All I’m saying is that if he needed an excuse to treat you the way he did, there wasn’t one.”

“Fine, but that doesn’t change what actually happened. It doesn’t un-beat me or un-scold me.” Gabriel blinked away tears. “It doesn’t make me feel any less small.”

Sam grimaced. “I know.”

“Some of what I did then - what felt so easy and natural to me - I have nightmares about that sort of thing now.”

“What sort of thing, exactly?”

Gabriel gave a bitter laugh. “This is what she meant, right? This shadow-work schtick is all about getting your hands filthy, isn’t it? I’m talking about eating, drinking, being loud, taking up space. All of that. I could do it then and I’m sure I have it in me to do it now because - well - ” Gabriel halted.

“Because what?” Sam pressed.

“I don’t - I mean, I got the sense that - all right, this might sound crazy to an outsider looking in, but you’re not an outsider anymore, are you? For better or worse, you’re along for the ride, and - ” Gabriel took a deep breath. “My impression was that Asmodeus tried to get rid of it, get rid of me, all of me, all of what I was. And that he was rightfully upset when he realized that maybe he couldn’t do it. That there was something he was constantly trying to kill, and it wouldn’t die, and that was what kept getting me into trouble.”

This time, without hesitation, Sam gripped his shoulder.

“So you see what might happen if I let go at all?” Gabriel continued. “I keep trying to squash it out. If I don’t keep trying, it isn’t going to die.”

“Why do you keep saying ‘it’?” asked Sam.

“That thing I was, that thing he took apart to try and make into something better suited to his purposes. No matter how much Asmodeus hurt me, or how much he took from me, that thing - the thing that made him do all of that - it wouldn’t die.”

There was silence but for the hum of the engine.

Finally, Sam turned off the ignition and shook his head. “I don’t know what to say.”

“I’m not asking you to write a speech.”

“I … ” Sam shook his head again.

“Got water in your ear?” said Gabriel.

“Listen, Gabriel, I think this might be hard to hear, but it also might help, so - don’t you think you have come back a little? That some of your old self has come back to life? I’ve seen it. Everyone has. Not a lot of it, I guess, but you’re not that different from how you used to be. At least not in some of the ways that really count. Right? Don’t you think that’s true?”

“In what universe is that observation meant to be helpful? It’s making me sick.”

“What I’m saying is that we’ve seen bits and pieces of you come back and none of us want to do anything close to what he did. We like you. Even Dean likes you.”

“Again, how is that supposed to be helpful?”

“Asmodeus tried to destroy you and couldn’t, Gabriel. That’s something to be proud of, not a reason to hate yourself. You’re strong; and that’s terrifying, I know - because he didn’t want you to be strong. He’d swing harder if he thought he might lose.” Sam smiled. “But the joke’s on him, because he didn’t exactly come out on top, did he?”

Gabriel turned to look out the window, into the darkness, because Sam had seen him break apart too many times. “Guess he didn’t.”

“So what do you have to fear from your old self? From your shadow side?”

“Everything. And even if he couldn’t annihilate the worst of me, he definitely slaughtered a good chunk of anything else. I hate what I was, and I hate what I am. All I know is I can’t remember how to not be afraid. I can’t remember how to think of myself as anything other than an inconvenience or a germ. I do not want to look that shadow-self in the eye, Sam. I don’t think I could take it.”

Sam squeezed his shoulder. “I think we’ve needed to talk about this for a while.”

Gabriel shuddered.

“Hey - ”

Gabriel waved him off. “Goose walking over my grave.”

“It isn’t that we have to discuss everything right now,” Sam added, “But, I mean - is it not kind of obvious to you that …”

When Sam didn’t go on, Gabriel closed his eyes. “That what?”

“That … that you might be running away from yourself a little?”

“Like a leisurely jog? You don’t ‘run a little.’ You either stand still, walk, or bolt. I don’t know exactly what speed I’ve taken on but I’m pretty sure I’ve started to run out of breath.”

“Then …”

“What Rowena implied,” Gabriel told him, “Is that a witch is more powerful if she knows her own weak spots before an enemy does. I guess if I don’t grab the past by the nards then I’m setting myself up for disaster. Or, at the very least, for stagnation. Getting a little more upfront with myself about - I don’t know. About me.”

Sam spoke cautiously. “What scares you about who you used to be, Gabriel?”

“Everything. Because Asmodeus - ”

“No, specifically. What’s so terrifying about it? About you?”

“The things Asmodeus picked on.”

“But what things? Maybe it’s better to start naming them. So that you can see we won’t get on your case about you just being yourself. It is kind of funny that this is coming up now. Because last week you were trying to go back to your old self, weren’t you?”

“I - I thought it might make me look more healed. Guess I got a head start on Rowena. I was just sick of being vulnerable a hundred percent of the time. Speaking of which, please take your hand off my shoulder, Sam.”

Sam slid his hand away. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be; I just can’t handle any of that right now. Look, can we expedite this process? I don’t want to sit here wondering what you’re thinking. What’s your take on all of this? On what Rowena said? On me?”

Sam considered. “The fact of the matter is that you are” - He paused again, choosing each word with caution - “outrageously different from who we knew before you disappeared. It’s always been bizarre to me that that guy could be made to be scared of himself. It’s just - it’s just a huge change, and it’s hard to watch. But,” Sam added, “None of it is your fault, Gabriel, and I hope you know that I want you to get better no matter what it looks like. If it means turning toward your old self, I’d be the last person to judge you for it. No wrong way to be all right, you know?

“None of us are going to hurt you for being loud or taking up space, or for needing or wanting something, for eating or drinking or regaining power. And we’re not going to punish you for being afraid, or crying, or whatever else you can’t help doing or feeling while you wait to believe that you’re not in Hell anymore. Asmodeus didn’t like the way you were, but why should he get to decide what’s okay?”

Gabriel leaned his head against the windowpane.

“Do you want to be more like how you used to be?” Sam prodded. “I mean, when you think about getting better, do you have a vision?”

“What is this, a job interview? I just want to not be terrified all the time. And to stop breaking down - to get some dignity back. I guess it’d be good to have my grace up and running too. No more nightmares, maybe.” He looked over at Sam. “Too much to ask, you think?”

“Sounds pretty reasonable to me.”

“I try not to think about it, though. About how I was. It bothers me. I don’t want to remember being any of the things Asmodeus had blacklisted while he was in the captain’s seat.”

“But specifically - ”

“Holy mother mackerel, what do you want from me, Sam? A lot of food, booze, sex, hedonistic gallivanting. He made me feel like a disease for ever being like that. I told you, right, that he accused me of being greedy and wanting to fatten myself up? Just the flaccid tendrils of self-centeredness were - ” Gabriel swallowed. “The prelude to a beating, or worse. Where am I supposed to go with that?”

“Forward. Just forward. Away from Asmodeus.”

Gabriel snorted. “Spoken like someone who understands how to walk a straight line.”

“It must have tormented you trying to pretend like you were back to your old self.”

“It was an experiment. One that fell on its face. I just figured you needed some PTO from my tantrums. Another of his favorite words, by the way.” Gabriel’s throat grew tight. “But I guess I did throw the occasional fit, didn’t I? In Hell.”

He was overcome by a vision of himself in tears, punching Asmodeus with weak fists in an indignant bid to finally obtain something of which he had been deprived: food, clothing, comfort, respite from the other demons who tormented him. Perhaps there had been a time or two when he’d begged for freedom, although he couldn’t easily remember an instance when he had seen the point in petitioning for release. Gabriel’s memories mostly featured what he had thought might be within reach so long as Asmodeus occasionally deigned to provide it. There were instances when Asmodeus did yield to his requests, however disparagingly and usually not without some form of penance on Gabriel’s part.

Gabriel made a sound of disgust and covered his mouth, momentarily persuaded that he was going to be sick.

“What’s wrong?” Sam asked, horrified.

Gabriel gritted his teeth and allowed the moment to pass.

“Nothing,” he told Sam. “Sorry. This is what I meant, by the way. Little jolts of memory here and there making it impossible to function. I hate that.”

“That’s happened to me before too.”

“But as an archangel, I - ”

“You got hurt. Same thing could’ve happened to any of your brothers. Like I said, it isn’t your fault.” Sam examined him more closely. “Maybe you should step outside and get some air.”

“No.” Gabriel didn’t want to explain how much he preferred to have some insulation with Sam in these moments, a closed den in a world gone thick and heavy with the darkness of his own mind.

He felt a sudden desperate desire to be back in the Men of Letters bunker. Without his grace, a handful of hours seemed like a much longer period of time.

“I wish she hadn’t said anything,” Gabriel told Sam. “She could’ve just as easily kept her trap shut.”

“Was she being nasty about it?”

“No, and that pisses me off! She seemed concerned. She could practically smell how much I’d changed and then asked if I was okay. Which obviously I wasn’t, and I’m not. When the satori got to me a little ways back - you remember - I thought, ‘Yeesh, I’ve got to get a handle on this BS before anyone else gets a glimpse of just how fragile I’ve become.’ For dignity’s sake, and because being the way I am now isn’t - well, with you it’s safe; but there are other Asmodeus types out there who’d be happy to play me like a greased-up trombone. And here comes Rowena, able to look through the squeaky-clean glass and watch me crawl around looking for a modicum of sanity. It’s degrading, is what it is. Sometimes it’s like - it’s like, just shatter that damn glass and stab me with it already. Then maybe I can learn how to fight back. That would be a step up from pity. Even if someone doesn’t want to do what Asmodeus did, even if I’m not putting myself in danger by being so transparent, it’s still nothing short of humiliating.”

Sam looked disturbed. “I like to think it’s better than you suffering in silence. Gabe, don’t worry too much: Rowena’s a witch and can pick up on things most of us wouldn’t think twice about. And she knows you, right?”

“Not that well.”

“Well - better than most.”

“There’s no need to tiptoe like a prude. Yes, it was a little uncomfortable, okay? She didn’t make it weird once she realized how scrambled my brains had become since we last saw each other. I don’t want to talk about it any more than that.”

Sam seemed a little uncertain, but gave a nod. “Yeah. All right.”

There was silence for a while. Gabriel’s shoulders tensed as he locked his gaze on the night.

“I’m not going to cry,” Gabriel said, “If that’s what you’re waiting for.”

“I was just thinking.”

Gabriel turned to him. “Reconsidering?”

“Reconsidering what?”

“Giving a little extra contemplation to whether you want me around,” Gabriel clarified. “I’m obviously not moving forward. I don’t want to be who I am now, but I don’t want to go back to who I was, either. I can’t make myself make sense, and nobody needs that in their life. Puzzles are fun until you realize none of the pieces fits any other. Then it just becomes a mess to sweep up and throw away.”

“Wow,” Sam said. “Um, no. That’s not what I was thinking.”

“And then comes the moment you realize you’ve wasted money on a puzzle that had the potential to be entertaining. Money and time. So you keep working on it, just to make sure there’s no chance of making it worth your while, and all that happens is more wasted resources - time, effort, attention, hope.” Gabriel turned his gaze to his lap. “Persistence isn’t always the right choice. Not when things stop showing promise. You have to know when to cut your losses instead of chiseling the edge of each piece until you’ve worn yourself out. The end result is going to look crummy no matter how crafty you are.”

“Yeah, no, that’s definitely not what I was thinking about.”

“Oh. Good. Abandoned cisterns, then?”

Sam smiled, but it looked forced to Gabriel. “I was thinking about how you’re still hiding a lot, that’s all.”

Gabriel set his jaw. “Can’t a guy keep some things close to the chest?”

“I meant - I mean to say, you’re still not really letting yourself heal. You’re fighting against it by telling yourself you need to move on and not be …” Sam struggled for the right words. “Not be unwell anymore. You keep trying to take detours and dodge some of what’s really holding you back. This is a good example, actually. I don’t think you need to worry about whether or not you’re going to take up old personality traits. That isn’t the question. I think you just need to be honest with yourself - and with me too - about why your old self makes you feel the way it does. And that’s the hard part, because the reason is Asmodeus, and I know you’d rather not think about him on purpose since he gets in your head all the time anyway.”

Sam looked at Gabriel with worry in his eyes - as if, Gabriel thought, he feared his words may be taken as offensive.

When Gabriel didn’t speak, Sam continued. “It seems like you’re desperate to speed up the process of recovery. I get the sense that maybe you need more than you’re willing to ask for. You have gotten better - I can’t say what it is, exactly, that makes me think that, but you’re not a - a - ”

“Waterlogged jigsaw puzzle?”

Sam smiled more genuinely this time. “You’re getting better, and that’s good. It’s great. But if you try to force things in a certain direction then you’re probably not going to get too far.” He shook his head. “I never want to push you, but it bugs me that there’s still a lot you aren’t willing to talk about, because I think it would help. I think - I don’t know, Gabriel; I think sometimes you’re just as lost and afraid as you were when you first showed up, only you feel like you shouldn’t need help anymore. That maybe you need … I don’t know …”

In the pause that followed, Gabriel experienced the familiar creeping terror of I’ve done something wrong and the electric tightening of shame all across his body.

He didn’t harbor any particular suspicions about what Sam planned to say. He only knew that the silence felt like a warning.

Sam glanced at him once, then twice - this time with alarm. “Gabriel?”

Gabriel shut his eyes and leaned back against the seat, drawing himself together so that he could reply. But the panic that had come on so abruptly was an outside force beyond his aegis, a hand around his throat, so real and so immediate that speech was impossible.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Sam told him. “Did I say something - ”

Gabriel shoved the door open, stumbled from the car, and had a split second’s thought of What am I trying to do? before crouching on the edge of the road and leaning backward against the front tire.

He felt stupid, but he was paralyzed.

Gabriel heard Sam’s door slam shut, then footsteps on gravel. “Gabriel?”

I think I short-circuited, Gabriel tried to explain, but he couldn’t speak. For a moment he feared there really was a hand around his neck, or something inside of his body preventing movement or expression.

Either he had truly lost his grasp of the present or he was physically broken. Insanity was preferable, because Sam could help with that.

Sam crouched beside him. “It’s okay. You’re okay. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

Gabriel coughed, trying to clear the paralysis from his throat. He gave a strangled half-grunt, half-squeak that registered in his own ears as devastatingly childish.

Sam was quiet while Gabriel waited for the tension to soften.

By the time it had eased just a little, he was trembling and his breath was shaky. His voice emerged as a hoarse whisper. “You didn’t do anything to upset me.”

“Then why - ”

“I don’t know.” Gabriel coughed again, trying to clear his throat and hoping Sam wouldn’t interpret the sound as the prelude to an episode of vomiting. “You - I just - ” The shallow breathing was making him dizzy, so he paused and focused on drawing in more air. “What is it you were going to tell me?”

“Huh?”

“What were you going to say? You said I needed something.”

“I …” Sam had to think. “Right. It’s not important.”

“Tell me what it is, Sam, because I feel like I’ve done something to offend you.”

Under the light of the streetlamp, Sam looked bewildered. “You didn’t.”

“Then why were you so nervous to explain yourself?” Gabriel gripped his knees with shivering fingers, not sure whether his vision was blurred due to the state of panic or because it was dark. “Just spit it out.”

“What did you think I was going to tell you? Look - ” Sam extricated one of Gabriel’s hands from its rigid, clawed position and held him by the wrist. “First take a deep breath and calm down.”

“Eat me. What were you going to say?”

“I was going to say that sometimes I see something is bothering you and you need to get it out in some way but you won’t. You need to talk or you need to cry and you just won’t, because you think you shouldn’t have to ask for that anymore. It probably isn’t great for you to keep it inside. You know it hasn’t been that long, right? I don’t like how much you’re pushing and shoving yourself into what you think is the right direction. I know you told me to back off - ”

“What instruction manual did you read? Because I didn’t write that one.”

“You told me to stop forcing you into making yourself vulnerable. So I try not to. Really, I do. I get it. But - ”

“But I’m still doing this wrong?” Now that the adrenaline had kicked in, there were two emotions - fear and anger - blended into one. “I need to start keeping a checklist.”

“No, that’s not what I’m trying to say. There’s no right way to get better.”

“What I’m hearing is that there might be more than one right way, but I’ve hit on one of the wrong methods.”

“If you use words like ‘right’ and ‘wrong,’ you’re going to drive yourself crazy.”

“Oh! We can’t have that. Could you imagine, Sam? Me, crazy? Every grain of lucidity just” - Gabriel snapped his fingers - “gone?”

Sam sighed. “Do you want to get back in the car?”

Gabriel flinched. “Sorry.”

“For what?” Sam sounded exasperated now.

“I know I’m confusing and petulant. I just don’t want to fight this fight, that’s all. Don’t leave me by myself.”

“I wasn’t going to.”

“You sound - ”

“I’m not angry. I - look - it’s frustrating trying to figure out how to help you. Because I do want to help. You know that, Gabriel.”

“I know you do, and I wish you didn’t, and I hope you don’t change your mind.”

“You don’t gotta worry about that.”

“No, see, I take that as a challenge. What I heard was, ‘You’re obligated to worry about that.’”

Sam offered a wry smile. “Listen, I never want to come on too strong. But sometimes it’s hard to gauge what’s going to be good for you in the moment and what might not be the best thing to say.”

“It does change by the hour sometimes. You have no magical compass directing you to the right move.”

“I guess I wish you’d just tell me. Tell me what you need. But instead, you shut down. That’s not wrong; I just worry it’s going to hurt you in the long run. You do need help. You should ask for it. I want you to feel safe.”

“So what should I do?” Gabriel’s voice sounded small, once again repulsively juvenile and weak. He hadn’t intended it, but neither could he have prevented it. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.”

Sam released Gabriel’s wrist and sat down next to him. “What are you afraid of? You know, what’s your motivation when you make a decision to talk to somebody or not? Or to show your feelings? Is it that you worry we’ll judge you or hurt you?”

“Yes. Of course.”

“What else?”

Gabriel considered, let the night engulf him for a few seconds, and came to a conclusion of which Rowena probably would have approved. He could picture her knowing smile.

“I think I’m afraid of getting better,” he told Sam, “Because if I go back to anything like who I was, I’m setting myself up for another round of Asmodeus.”

He half-expected Sam to express astonishment, but Sam just nodded, looking thoughtful. “What do you mean, exactly? Being captured again? Being treated the way he treated you?”

“Both, maybe. I don’t know. I can’t get specific because the only thing I know for sure is that whatever was wrong with me is whatever got me into the pickle I was in. I don’t want to be there again, and I don’t care what that takes from me. As long as I stay away from whatever it was that he saw in me. Whatever it was he saw fit to play ball with can’t have anything to do with me anymore; I don’t care what else happens to me as long as I - as long as that thing that I was - whatever he hated so much - ” Gabriel shook his head. “Who knows what might happen next? It might come from you or any of the others, or from another bloodthirsty troglodyte, or - hell, the way my senses operate these days, I figure it could just as easily come from Asmodeus himself. The risk isn’t worth it. Except since I’m not getting better like I should be - ”

“No, come on - ”

“ - then that, too, seems like a surefire way to incite some kind of punishment. You talk about the right way - or the wrong way - or neither of those things, I guess, since sometimes you’re so needlessly poetic - but really there are only wrong ways. Because it’s me, Sam. There’s no right way to be whatever it is that I am.”

Sam gave a bitter laugh.

“Yeah,” Gabriel said. “I’m hilarious.”

Sam stopped laughing, then looked away from Gabriel to study the ground. “Sorry. It’s just - now and again I don’t totally relate to what you’re talking about. Some of what Asmodeus did, maybe - and some of what you describe about the aftermath. When you tell me about that dark feeling, the feeling of everything being different and otherworldly and nauseating - I don’t really know what you mean.” Sam looked up at him. “But in this case, I know exactly the feeling you’re talking about.”

“Hate that for you,” said Gabriel.

“It’s interesting, though, to see it from the other side. Not that I haven’t run into it before - Dean and Cas aren’t all that proud of themselves either - but that feeling of being a freak of nature …” Sam swallowed. “There’s something unique about that feeling. And I want to tell you how much it isn’t true for you. That if you could only look at yourself rationally and see how wrong Asmodeus was, you’d be okay. Except I get how hard it is to convince yourself that there’s nothing wrong with you. Not any more than someone else.”

“Right. Other people deserve good things; you feel like you’re the one and only exception, and if they could just get into your head and know that feeling of being a disease and a mistake - ”

“- then they’d stop trying, because they’d understand that for you - ”

“ - it’s not just low self-esteem,” Gabriel finished, “But fact.”

Sam laughed again, and this time Gabriel heard relief. “Does that make you look at this any differently?”

“Nope. All it does is bum me out that you won’t change your mind.”

“Good thing this isn’t about me, then.”

“Yeah.” Gabriel closed his eyes. “Good thing.”

“Wanna head home? Get back in the car, maybe take a rest on the trip? We’ve got a little while.”

“Yeah, I’m …”

Gabriel tried to say I’m tired. Instead, he buried his head in his knees.

A multitude of terrors crawled through his mind. There were thoughts of who he had once been, the charisma and vivacity that Asmodeus had forced into obedience. There were thoughts of who he was now, buckled over on the edge of the road weeping silently and shallowly into his knees while Sam watched.

Worst of all, there was the understanding that Sam looked inward and saw what Gabriel saw in himself, and the horror of knowing that Gabriel couldn’t do anything to change that.

He wondered if that inability spoke to his own powerlessness, his own worthlessness. If the archangel Gabriel couldn’t make Sam see something so painfully obvious as his own value, it seemed he had fallen even farther than either of them had ever suspected. There was a special breed of frailty in not being able to change Sam’s mind about this.

If they could just get into your head and know that feeling of being a disease and a mistake …

But Gabriel was in Sam’s head, because he knew that feeling better than anyone. He understood that that conviction was the most potent belief that torture could leave in its wake. There was no dismissing that feeling, no reasoning through it. It simply sat, content, as if it had always been there - as if it had always had a rightful and natural place in reality.

Gabriel cried so softly that Sam didn’t notice what was happening until Gabriel finally raised his head to breathe more deeply.

Sam squeezed his shoulder. “Hey, buddy, it’s okay.”

“It really isn’t,” Gabriel muttered.

“I think we should keep moving. We need to get you home. You need to rest.”

Gabriel wanted to be home immediately, and the thought that he couldn’t have the comfort of his bedroom for another few hours was unbearable.

He didn’t want to try explaining that to Sam. He didn’t want Sam to see the desperate childishness that had emerged when Asmodeus gained control of him.

“Come on,” Sam said gently. “Let me - ” He edged Gabriel upright, into a standing position, and let him lean against the door for a moment before helping him back inside the car and then reseating himself behind the wheel.

Gabriel hugged himself, digging his nails into either arm, once more swallowed up by disgusting visions of his time in Hell - of being dragged, held down, berated; of begging, pleading, and groveling; of screaming for help until his throat ripped and he gagged on his own blood.

“Easy,” Sam said, and clutched Gabriel’s shoulder again. “If, um - if you need to be sick or anything, or you want to talk - ”

Gabriel shrugged Sam’s hand from his shoulder and seized it with both of his.

“I don’t want to talk,” he rasped. “But I - there’s so much going on in my head and I think my last marbles are spilling out my ears.”

“I’ll catch them.”

Gabriel didn’t try to smile. “Sam, I can’t talk about the pre-Asmodeus me. I can’t.”

“You don’t have to.”

“But Rowena had a point. I need to figure this out.”

“Not right now. Not right away. And definitely not all at once.”

“I can’t think about it without hearing him. Without feeling like he’s with me right here and now. I never want to go back to the way I was; I can’t. It’s terrifying. It’s dangerous. I can’t be that. I can’t be any of that, ever again.” He began to sweat as he spoke. “I can’t - ”

“No one’s going to make you do anything,” Sam reminded him. “No one’s asking you to be someone you’d rather leave behind. But there’s no need for you to get scared to death of being yourself.”

“Even thinking about it, about how I was - and what he did with it - it makes me feel like he’s here with me in the car.”

“I know,” said Sam. “You’re shaking.”

“I can’t help it. I’m trying to stop.”

“No, no, Gabriel - geez - don’t. You can be scared. No one’s going to punish you for this, I promise.”

“I know that. I know. I know that.” Gabriel wiped a hand across his forehead. “What would make you punish me, Sam? So I know not to do it?”

“I can’t think of anything off the top of my head.”

“I feel like I can’t breathe.”

“Maybe a sign to slow down and take a breath, huh?”

“I don’t know. Maybe.” Gabriel inhaled, trying to steady himself. “Maybe. Sam, I can’t be the way I was. I wish she hadn’t brought it up. I wish she hadn’t gotten into my head like that. She knows. She sees what he did to me.”

“I don’t necessarily think that’s true. She just picked up on a difference in your behavior, that’s all.”

“I don’t want to think about it. About me. About what made Asmodeus so desperate to cause me pain. And that was - that was everything about me. That’s everything I ever was. Ugh, I hate it. I hate him. Not Asmodeus - me. I hate him; I hate that Gabriel. And I hate this one too, but - but this one hasn’t been hurt. Not like that. Not the way he hurt me.”

“Well,” said Sam, “That’s probably because I’m not Asmodeus, and I wouldn’t want to do to anyone the things he did to you.”

“Others, though. There’s gotta be another Asmodeus out there. There might be an Asmodeus in you.”

“Mm, no, I don’t think you need to be too concerned about that. Gabriel, are you going to throw up? You look sick.”

“No. I’m - I don’t know. I wish she hadn’t said anything.” It was as if he repeated it enough, Gabriel could unwrite the exchange he had had with Rowena. “I wish she hadn’t mentioned shadow-work. Haven’t thought too much about who I used to be. It’s too much. Too much, Sam. I don’t want to look.”

“Then don’t. Not yet. Maybe not ever, I guess, if you really don’t want to. Or, if you do, I’m here.”

Clear visions scurried through his mind once more, flowering in bursts of sound and color. Greedy: the way he had begged for food. Selfish: the way he had implored Asmodeus to stop hurting him. Spoiled rotten: the way he had demanded a blanket when he became so starved that his only warmth came from goosebumps.

Whiny: how he howled in pain when Asmodeus cut particularly deep. Lazy: how he curled up on the hard, sticky cell floor and listened to Asmodeus screaming for more grace. Ungrateful: how he had vomited what food Asmodeus did provide after eating frantically, terrified of never getting more.

“How do I look now?” Gabriel asked.

Sam squinted at him. “Horrific.”

“Good, then this won’t take you by surprise.” Gabriel leaned out of the car and began retching. His throat hurt, and he wondered if it was bleeding as it had when he’d screamed with such force and ferocity in Hell.

Gabriel didn’t vomit. There was nothing to bring up.

“Damn,” he croaked. “That would’ve been so funny if I had anything in my system.”

Sam eased Gabriel back into the car. “Here’s what I think we should do: I think we need to start on our way home, and you should try and get a couple hours of shut-eye on the way. Rowena’s right; you do need rest. You need to sleep, and when you wake up we’ll be back at the bunker, and we can talk more if you want. But in the meantime, I want you to take a breather and let all of this go for the moment. Okay?”

Gabriel didn’t say anything.

“Gabriel?” Sam prodded. “Are you ready to get moving again? If you feel sick we’ll pull over, but I think you just - ”

“Call your brother,” Gabriel interjected. “Tell him to get a move on and save that sad little Minnesota town from witches who have nothing better to do than shove their goody bags into rusty pipes.”

“Are you - ”

“I’ll take a nap. Just let him know what needs to be done and we can figure out how else to help him if he needs it.”

Sam looked reluctant, but he nodded and started the engine again. “I’ll do that. Try to relax, Gabriel.”

Gabriel shut his eyes and listened to Sam ask, “Yeah, hey, Dean - ever tried to get into an abandoned cistern before?”

Even so:

“You really don’t know much about these sons of bitches,” Gabriel reminded Sam, trying not to sound like he was pleading. “And I’ve seen them before; I would be able to take one on.”

But Sam held firm. “You’ve already done plenty to help us along, all right? You taught us more about the satori than Wikipedia and all the Japanese folklore books combined. We don’t need you to fight; we just needed that guidance. Okay? You really aren’t ready for this. And I’m not saying that to try and make you feel bad. When you’re stronger, I won’t make you stay put. Promise.”

“In other words, I’d slow you guys down.” Before Sam could protest, Gabriel added, “Fine. You’re hardly off the mark, so fine. I’ll entertain myself while you go hunt down your furry lunatic. Remember, get a good swing in, and if it doesn’t know what’s coming then you’ve got yourself an extra three seconds or so to avoid being eaten.”

Sam nodded, pretending Gabriel hadn’t told him this already. “Sure thing.”

“Did you meditate? Clear that noggin of yours? The satori feed on thoughts. Especially complex, contemplative thought.”

“Dean and I both meditated.”

“Like I said: complex and contemplative. I’m not as worried about Dean.”

Sam glanced down at his watch. “Gabriel, I’ve got to go. But while we’re gone, put your feet up. Let yourself relax for a while. I promise we’ll be okay.”

“Did I say you wouldn’t be?”

Sam smiled, and just missed the raised middle finger cast behind him on his way out the door.

Gabriel waited for the engine to fade before he checked his pocket to ensure the room key was there.

Yes, he was worn out; yes, he was low on grace; and yes - he had enough sense to understand that Sam had been generous in allowing Gabriel to come at all when he was sure to slow the others down. Nevertheless, it was true that Gabriel knew these creatures better than Sam did: he’d dealt with them more than once when they had free reign over the Central Pangean Mountains, long before humankind could take advantage of any opportunity to mess with them.

Gabriel was familiar with what scant literature was accessible to the public these days; and no matter how many times he insisted that not only were these monsters more cunning than the Winchesters’ average prey, but quicker and more ferocious, neither of them took the warnings seriously.

“I’m not questioning whether you can take them on,” Gabriel had told them. “I’m just trying to get you to believe me when I tell you that you gotta prepare for more than you’ve been able to read up on.”

“So tell us more,” Dean prodded, watching him in the rearview mirror.

“I told you all I know! It’s not like I’ve ever sat down to have lunch with one. But I’ve seen what they can do to humans, and …” Gabriel paused, remembering. “A couple of times I was able to chase them off.”

Dean raised his eyebrows. “And the other times?”

Gabriel waved a dismissive hand. “Doesn’t matter.” He didn’t want to admit that the “other times” had seen him standing out of sight, watching the carnage and unwilling to get involved. “I just hope you had good reflexes in Little League.”

“We’ve got everything we need,” Sam assured him from the passenger seat. “Plenty of options in the trunk.”

“I’m not worried about what weapon you use. What matters is how fast you can swing it. The goal is to take the sucker off guard, not to destroy it.”

“Then what’s the point of this trip anyway?” Dean demanded.

“See, Sam? Your brother gets what I’m trying to say.”

“As long as we can chase it off,” Sam reminded them both. “Look, Gabriel - I hear you. We don’t know how to kill it. So we’re going to immobilize it.”

“Right.” Gabriel sat back and closed his eyes. He could feel a headache coming on. “With your fancy-pants spellwork.”

“Rowena told us - ”

“Rowena knows how to chase them into isolated sprawls of water. They can’t swim, and that’s all well and good, but what happens after that? Did she do a follow-up study? For all we know, this could be the same one she took down all those years ago. You want me to page the coral reefs, see if they found a mangy corpse over yonder?”

Sam sighed. “You’re just gonna have to trust us. We’re doing the best we can.”

“I know. That’s why I insisted on tagging along.”

Outside of the motel, Gabriel halted, breathing in the mountain air. Not for the first time, he was discombobulated at the subtleties his near-graceless body picked up in a way it never would have before: the way this oxygen was thinner than that of Kansas, the chilly tickle of fall as background noise in the latter half of summer. These minute changes affected him in strange ways, altering his heartbeat and sometimes making him feel as though he was surrounded by unfamiliar presences.

He began walking. It had been a long time since he’d set foot in the Uinta Mountain ranges. Memories flickered at the back of his mind - memories that might have taken place prehistorically or may have happened a mere few centuries before. It was hard to tell sometimes which memories fell where, considering that his time with Asmodeus was a history in itself that felt both very old and very fresh.

That’s how it works when there’s no end in sight, he thought, making his way down the road toward the mountains themselves, where he knew the monster would be lurking.

It was an hour before he got a text message from Sam. Nothing yet. Probably gonna be a few hours.

“Cool,” Gabriel said to the mountain air. “Because this won’t take me long at all. Good thing one of us knows what we’re doing.”

He couldn’t recall the last time he’d been on rolling, open grass like this. Lebanon was beige; the mountain ranges were a pure, warm green.

He wished he could move positions the way he used to. It was conceivable that he might manage some distance should he attempt to fly, but there was no point in wasting his energy on that, especially since he wasn’t sure whether he had the grace he needed to take this creature down. He couldn’t remember having ever seen one killed another way; all that could be done, it seemed - at least for humankind - was to frighten the satori off with whatever object an unwitting traveler could swat at it.

What Gabriel had wanted to say to Sam, and hadn’t, was: “If it’s a choice between you getting clawed to death and turned into a meal and me taking myself out with a last gasp for grace, why are we even debating?”

How’s it going? Gabriel texted, and Sam wrote: I’ll let you know when we get rid of it.

That terse reply, indicative of irritation (although Gabriel, sensitive as he was these days, knew he wasn’t a good assessor of others’ emotions), was nothing compared to what he would face when Sam found out he’d tried to tackle the satori on his own. The real upside to Gabriel not making it through this in one piece was that he wouldn’t have to deal with punishment.

Sam’s not going to punish you, something inside of him retorted, but he focused on taking one step after another. He was tired, but he could feel that his grace was present. Maybe healing Sam’s hand had stimulated it.

Doesn’t matter. Just gotta get this done.

When he felt the satori, his neck prickled and his heartbeat sped up. It seemed that his ability to sense unwelcome supernatural presences had either never left or been reignited at some point in the recovery from his time in Hell.

Or perhaps he was attuned to predators lying in wait.

“Come on,” Gabriel called. “Eat me.”

All birdsong ceased as Gabriel turned around.

The creature stared at him and smiled.

“You’re gross,” Gabriel told it. “You look like if the offspring of Mr. Potato Head and an orangutan got its finger caught in an electric socket.”

The goblin-esque animal-thing only grinned wider. Its eye sockets were still and hollow in a furry face.

When it spoke, its voice was high and tight as if it had inhaled from a balloon, and the words came rapidly:

“The blackness thickens,” it said. “No one will be here for long; it’s all pretend. Not one of them wants you; not one of them cares. It’s a good thing you came along to destroy the enemy: make yourself useful and perhaps they’ll let you stay. Ask nicely and they’ll allow you to keep stealing from them.”

Gabriel’s skin crawled. “What are you doing, you mangy freak?”

“It has not been able to read your mind before,” the beast replied. Gabriel, who could only assume that “it” meant the satori itself, could no longer tell whether it was actually looking at him or whether those grotesque holes were sightless. The horrid animal looked dead. “You used to be an angel. When you were more than this, it couldn’t get into your head. But look: is this not proof of what you have become?”

“I’m here to - ”

“And yet if you use what little grace swims in your near-human flesh, what use will you be? Perhaps it is time; the hour has come to show that you’re a failure, and they’ll have the excuse they so sorely need to throw you away. It can eat you, too; if you are human, and it can read you, then it can swallow you as well.”

Gabriel stepped backward.

Chill out, he told himself. The son of a bitch is screwing with you.

“The son of a bitch is not screwing with you,” the creature said. “Your memories - I smell them on your breath.” The satori cackled - harsh, like retching. “You fear that he is still inside of you. Who would have thought that you, once so esteemed and powerful, might buckle? Paralysis maintains its grip upon the creature you once were.”

Paralysis indeed, Gabriel thought as he found himself struggling to respond with either speech or movement.

The creature gave its choking laugh again. “You see? You are frozen. It knows. It knows better than anyone.”

“Wrong.” Gabriel steeled himself for either overwhelming exhaustion or worse. He felt a pang of annoyance that he couldn’t do this the way he used to. “No one knows better than yours truly.”

The flash of grace hit the creature hard, and Gabriel felt some of it ricochet back to him. It hurt, but wasn’t enough to knock him over. That came only after he saw the satori crumple to the ground, its eye sockets just as lifeless as they had been a few seconds before.

Gabriel found his face pressed into the dirt. Every muscle ached in a peculiarly human manner.

He experimented with standing up and found that, although it was a sluggish process, it wasn’t impossible. He was dizzy but he could walk.

He took breaks here and there to lean against a tree and catch his breath. The birds had started singing again.

During one of these brief siestas, he sent a message to Sam:

I know you’ll hate me and I don’t blame you but I squashed the big furry toad thing.

A few moments later, Sam replied: Where are you???

Almost to the motel.

What were you thinking???

Gabriel didn’t reply. Sam sent another message only a few seconds after that: We can find you if you stay put. Don’t move.

I’m almost back; calm down.

He could picture Sam closing his eyes and inhaling, trying not to show that he was frustrated.

Are you sure? Sam asked.

Yes. Chill. I’ll meet you there.

He didn’t check the messages after that.

Gabriel arrived first. The motel room smelled like coarse carpeting and the salami sandwiches Dean had eaten in Gabriel and Sam’s room several hours before.

Gabriel groaned and lay down on one of the two beds. He wished he could fall asleep then and there, but he knew he was about to be in trouble.

“You didn’t even take a weapon?” Dean cried when the brothers returned. “You were just banking on being able to lasso him with possibly nonexistent angel milk?”

Sam strode over to the bed. “Did you really - ”

“I’m sorry. I know. I didn’t want you to get slaughtered by something I knew I could get rid of for you, okay? Sue me.”

Sam cupped his hands over his face and exhaled. “Did it do anything to you?”

“No.”

“It didn’t hurt you?”

“If it had, then my answer would’ve been yes. I’m fine, Sam. I’m good. And I knew you’d be upset with me, but I would rather you be mad than dead.”

“I’m not upset with you; I just - you should have told me you were going to risk your neck like that.”

“Well, I asked your permission to risk my neck and you said no! What was I supposed to do, Sam? What’s done is done and we’re all still freakin’ alive, so go shower and stop yelling at me.”

He knew that Sam wasn’t yelling, but to Gabriel it sounded dangerously close.

Sam glanced at Dean.

“He’s an idiot,” Dean announced.

“Come on,” Sam snapped. “That’s not helpful.”

“Neither was going after a monster without telling us first.” Dean glared at Gabriel before making his way to the exit and slamming the door behind him.

“He’s worried, that’s all,” Sam said.

“Yeah, he’s all in a tither over my safety. I could tell by the way he tried to disembowel me with his eyes.” Gabriel shoved his face into a pillow and groaned. “I know, okay? I do. I really - I mean - look, I’d be royally pissed too, but I was doing what I thought was best. I’m not sorry for that.”

“I …” Sam struggled for a moment, but all the fight seemed to have left him. “I’m glad you managed to pull it off. Just don’t do it again.”

With an effort, Gabriel sat up. “I’m not interested in standing by anymore.”

“We’ve had this talk already: you don’t owe us anything.”

“Fine.” Gabriel flopped back down. He hadn’t removed his shoes. “I just knew what had to be done in this instance. It can’t be taken back now and I’m glad you’re not dead.”

He shut his eyes, then felt the mattress sink under Sam’s weight.

“I’m sorry,” Sam told him. “It’s only that - ”

“Don’t be sorry.” Gabriel kept his eyes closed. “I knew the reaction I was in for. As if I didn’t run through this a thousand times in my head. You disowning me is more appealing than me having to dig your grave.”

“I wouldn’t disown you. You know that. I’m not mad, and if I was - ”

“You are mad. But frankly, I figured you’d be a lot worse than this.”

“You really don’t trust me, do you?”

Gabriel opened his eyes and squinted up at Sam. “I trust you. You obviously don’t have enough faith in me to help you when you need it, though.”

Sam stood up. “Maybe let’s have this conversation tomorrow.”

“No need. Go clean yourself up.”

“Take off your shoes.”

“Too tired. Not conscious.”

As he was drifting off, he felt Sam untying his sneakers.

There was little dialogue during the long trip home the following day. Dean was still tense, which surprised Gabriel, who had been ardently convinced that Sam would be furious and Dean would be relieved. Dean wasn’t worried about whether Gabriel lived or died, and someone had taken care of his dirty work for him.

There was, of course, the possibility that Dean was upset over being denied a triumphant capture. But Gabriel wasn’t particularly concerned about Dean’s feelings in this instance. What mattered was that he and Sam were both alive and well.

Gabriel slept most of the way home, and his dreams were full of eyeless beasts clawing at his face and digging soiled ape-like paws so harshly into his skull that the pressure became too much and he grew blind. In the nightmares, he tried to scream at them, but couldn’t make a sound.

There was nothing he could do, because they already knew he was afraid.

He was stiff and clammy when it was time to climb out of the car. During the extraordinarily long journey (probably not so extraordinary for them, Gabriel realized), Sam had taken Dean’s place at the wheel and Dean was staring sullenly out of the window.

“Okay back there?” Sam asked.

Gabriel nodded.

“Here - ” Sam made his way around back to open the door and help Gabriel out.

“I’m fine,” snapped Gabriel. “I can move on my own.”

He immediately felt guilty for his tone of voice, but the dreams wouldn’t leave him.

“What’s wrong?” asked Sam. “Hey, you’re all sweaty and shaky.”

“Tired from using up my grace. Think there’s probably none left.” Both halves of his explanation were true. There was no need to explain that the nightmares had made it worse.

He shoved himself out of the car and Sam reached out a hand to steady him. Gabriel stepped away before Sam could touch him.

“Gabe,” said Sam, “You look like you’re going to pass out.”

“I’m not.”

“I can tell when something’s wrong with you.”

Gabriel clenched his jaw. “Is that so?” He straightened himself and made a concerted effort to walk evenly and steadily up to the door and down the stairs into the bunker. He stumbled toward the bottom step and Sam grabbed his shoulder.

Gabriel wrenched himself away. “Jesus, Sam, I’ll tell you if something’s wrong!”

“Okay!” Sam looked alarmed. “I just - okay.”

Gabriel ignored the shame that accompanied his outburst. Sam didn’t deserve anybody shouting at him, but there could be no denying that he was right: Sam had seen Gabriel in various states of distress and knew what it looked like when he wasn’t well.

He turned away, making for his bedroom; then he paused and looked back at Sam.

“I just need a little rest,” he said. “That’s all it is. I’m on edge, all right? But I’ll be fine.”

Sam nodded. “Yeah. Go. Get some sleep. I’ll bring you something to eat later.”

“All right.” Gabriel wasn’t sure he would be able to eat, but there was no reason to make Sam more suspicious. “I’ll see you later.”

He didn’t look back this time.

That week, Gabriel made it a point to eat in front of them - especially Sam - at least once a day. He wasn’t unable to eat, and mostly it wasn’t a necessity; usually, however, he didn’t have any appetite. Besides that, hunger made him feel guilty, and sometimes he had a hard time eating without an immediate recollection of being held down and force-fed during his time with Asmodeus.

If Sam noticed that Gabriel was eating more, he didn’t say. Gabriel tried to let his mind go blank during mealtimes. Asmodeus often crept in, and he must have looked a certain way when that happened because Sam would frown.

Not one of them wants you; not one of them cares.

Gabriel forced himself to swallow, privately willing Sam to stop watching him, desperate for control over his own mind.

Is this not proof of what you have become?

Not even Sam ought to have access to his innermost thoughts and memories - not anymore.

Meanwhile, Dean’s behavior had settled into some semblance of normalcy. Gabriel had never been more thankful for his indifference; he had never taken such joy in the absence of intuitive empathy.

Then there was Castiel, who seemed mostly inclined to leave his brother alone. He sometimes looked puzzled - although that wasn’t unusual for him - but he didn’t say anything.

If Jack had any suspicions about Gabriel’s newfound stoicism, he didn’t let them show. He was cheerful and inquisitive as always, and yet - maybe from spending so much time with Cas, or perhaps because he had learned neither how to express his compassion nor how to block it - there were times he too appeared confused, not sure what to make of his uncle.

“Why are you looking at me like that, kid?” Gabriel asked him one evening.

Jack replied, “How am I looking at you?”

“Like I’m still brushing off loam from the uncanny valley.”

Jack didn’t know how to respond to that, and the subject didn’t come up again.

The four of them were sharing dinner one night when Gabriel made his decision.

“Hey,” he said to the others. “You guys all need to chill right the hell out, okay?”

Everyone turned to stare at him.

“Every time I take a bite,” Gabriel elaborated, “At least one of you watches me like you think I’m going to burst into flame. Or tears. Maybe that was warranted at one point, but I’m starting to feel like there’s something stuck in my teeth and nobody wants to tell me.”

“Your teeth look fine to me,” said Jack.

“Look,” Gabriel went on, “I get that I kind of wore myself out back in Utah, but can you fellas please stop watching my every move with those confused looks on your faces?”

Sam appeared taken aback. “Is that what we’re doing? I guess I was just …”

Slowly, looking him in the eye, Gabriel forced himself to take a bite of the pizza Dean had crafted. He had tasted it before, and although it was exceptionally good, Gabriel had a hard time with the richness of it. Had it been up to him, he would have steered clear of meals that were meant to make a person feel full. This was the first time in the last week that he had fully committed to this sort of sustenance; before that, he’d been able to get away with lighter fare.

The fact that Gabriel was able to dismiss the taste and weight of the food, that he was able to bring his mind elsewhere and ignore the spasm of nausea he had anticipated when he sat down, was encouraging.

“You were just what?” Gabriel asked when he’d swallowed.

“Uh …” Sam blinked. “Nothing. Sorry.”

“You’re used to me being a swooning maiden,” Gabriel countered. “Right now I feel fine, and your constant inspection is nothing short of creepy.”

Sam furrowed his brow, but nodded. “All right. Sorry, Gabriel. I’m glad you’re feeling better.”

Gabriel took another mouthful, swallowed, and said: “Who knows? Maybe using my grace to wipe out the monster was just the kick in the pants I needed to get up and running again. I mean, hey, if I have it in me to off a predator from Jim Henson’s fever-dream, maybe I’m not in for the permanent misery that seemed inevitable before he and I faced off.”

Sam smiled, looking more at ease. “Yeah. I guess that makes sense.”

“Hey,” Dean interrupted, “You including me in that accusation? You and I have been having a great time.”

“That’s true,” Castiel agreed. He hadn’t taken any pizza, but was enjoying the company. “I’ve never seen the two of you get along so well.”

“Right?” Gabriel sat back. “So what do you have to complain about, Sam?”

“I’m not complaining, Gabriel, really.”

“Good. Because if you’ve got something to say, you can say it to me.”

For a moment he was afraid Sam was going to shout at him, although Gabriel knew that when he’d dared use that tone with Asmodeus, he deserved whatever response came his way.

Instead, he saw Sam further relax. “All right. I will.”

Sam was watchful during the remainder of the meal, although it was possible that Gabriel was only imagining as much. Sometimes he thought he felt Sam’s eyes on him, but when he looked over, Sam was just enjoying the food.

After dinner, Dean crooked a finger at Gabriel. “C’mere a minute.”

Gabriel followed him into the hall.

“What’s going on?” Dean asked, which surprised Gabriel.

“Nothing,” he replied.

“Look, I’m not complaining. I like you like this. But last week, before we left for Utah, you were afraid to ask for a napkin - and that’s even if you took five minutes to eat without Sam practically forcing it down your throat. So what gives?”

“Nothing,” Gabriel said again, wishing Dean had used different hyperbole. “Why are you harassing me about this?”

“Well, maybe if I knew what I was harassing you about it, we wouldn’t need to have this conversation.”

Gabriel stiffened. He felt betrayed. He had trusted Dean to be ignorant and unconcerned.

“I don’t know what you think you’re seeing,” Gabriel told him. “All I know is it isn’t real.”

“Maybe Sam should be the one to decide that.”

“Oh please. What’s Sam got to do with anything?”

Dean remained stone-faced.

Gabriel hardened his voice. “No one’s bothering Sam about anything. What, have you consulted him how to fix whatever imaginary problem you’ve got keeping you up at night? Asked him how to rewire his favorite disaster?”

“No,” said Dean, “Because I’d never hear the end of it from this new version of you.”

“What ‘new version’ of me? I can’t figure out if I’m being insulted.”

“Look, all I know is people don’t change like this overnight. Not without a reason.”

“Good thing I’m not people, then,” Gabriel snapped.

Dean shook his head. “Like I said, man, I don’t know what’s going on with you. Maybe it’s none of my business; I just figure you should ask Sam for help if something isn’t right.”

“I - ” Gabriel faltered. “You don’t want me to bother Sam about this, do you? Not that there’s any - but if there were, if I was - look, no one’s asking Sam for anything, okay? There’s no need, and if something was wrong with me, then he doesn’t need to do anything. Poor sap’s done enough for every lifetime he’s been put through.”

“I think he’d wanna know.”

“What would he want to know? What do you think the issue is here?”

“Well, if I knew, I wouldn’t’ve thought to bug you about it. But fine. Maybe my intuition is off.” He turned to leave, but then paused and looked back at Gabriel. “Sam would never forgive himself if you felt like you couldn’t tell him something, though.”

Gabriel stared at him. Then, more timidly, he asked: “Are you sure you haven’t mentioned anything? About … about whatever you think you see?”

“No. Should I?”

Gabriel shook his head.

“Look, Gabe,” said Dean, “He worries, but at the same time, he really wants to see you get better. He might be pulling the wool over his own eyes about this. If something happens to you and he thinks he could’ve done something to stop it, neither of you is going to be okay.”

Gabriel didn’t respond.

“I’ll see you later, Gabe,” Dean said, and left him standing in the hall with his heart beating twice as fast as it had been during dinner.

With static humming in his mind, Gabriel went back to his own bedroom. He shut the door and lay down on the bed, puzzled and frustrated by the sudden tautness in his throat. He ignored it.

He felt as though he had just been scolded, although he was reasonably confident that no such event had taken place.

Paralysis maintains its grip upon the creature you once were.

It occurred to Gabriel then that even he wasn’t entirely sure what he was doing. He allowed himself a brief indulgence in the notion that Sam really was under the impression that, for the first time in months, nothing was so wrong with Gabriel as to require immediate attention. He wondered if they could be friends without the ongoing dynamic of victim and savior, although he knew Sam would have scoffed at such a description.

Then he considered the practical implications of remaining here when he had just taken such a hit to his grace supply. He had reason to believe that it would come back - he had been entirely without grace more than once, and it always came back - but the amount of time that would take couldn’t be predicted. If he was to stay here, in the bunker, he had to have grace sooner rather than later. He remembered being without grace in Hell, and wished he could forget the punishment for such a crime. Now, in the bunker, he might not be penalized so much as …

Well, uselessness was a punishment in itself.

The hour has come to show that you’re a failure.

Gabriel sighed and closed his eyes.

They’ll have the excuse they so sorely need to throw you away.

No dreams, no nightmares, no tossing and turning: this slumber was quiet and pure.

But the next thing Gabriel knew, there were two voices calling his name; one he recognized immediately as Sam’s, and the other took him a few seconds to identify as that of Castiel. He couldn’t make out the words, and then he realized he couldn’t fully open his eyes; they had grown too heavy.

Panic set in as someone lifted him upright. He didn’t even have the strength to go rigid, let alone any power to fight back.

“Gabriel.” Sam was speaking to him in a low, hurried voice. “We’re not going to hurt you. Just wake up, all right?”

Gabriel wrenched his eyes partway open. The room was hazy. He took shallow breaths.

“Geez,” Sam told him. “Gabe, buddy, we couldn’t get you to wake up.”

Gabriel tried to ask, Why? but couldn’t make himself speak.

“It’s almost two in the afternoon,” Sam told him, “And when I came in to check on you, you just …” He trailed off.

“Wouldn’t move,” Castiel finished.

Gabriel leaned back against Sam.

“What’s going on?” Sam pressed. “I’ve never seen that happen to you before.”

When Gabriel managed to reply, his voice was hoarse. “I’ve fainted plenty.”

“This is different. Hey, keep your eyes open for a minute; we thought - ” Sam paused. “We just didn’t know what was going on.”

“Tired,” Gabriel slurred.

“This goes beyond tired, Gabriel,” said Cas.

“My grace … it’s …”

“It’s what?” Sam prodded.

“Dunno. I …” Gabriel tried to ignore the pounding in his head. “Killing the monster, the satori - ”

Sam and Castiel waited for him to continue. When Gabriel’s breath began coming a little more easily, he finished, “Maybe took some fight out of me.”

“This is why I told you not to come.” Sam didn’t sound angry - just worried, even afraid. “I know you were trying to help, but Gabriel, you were the one who said how vicious those things are. You’re not ready for something like that.”

“Through no fault of your own,” Castiel added.

Gabriel tried to push himself off of Sam and found that he was too weak.

“What’s wrong?” Sam asked him. “Does anything hurt?”

“Why?” The question emerged, at last, without Gabriel even thinking about it.

“What? Why what?”

“What good’re you gonna get out of knowing what’s the matter with me?”

Sam shifted so that Gabriel was lying with his head on Sam’s lap instead of bent at an angle against his chest.

Castiel spoke up: “I suspect that Sam is simply trying to remind you that you’ve become an important part of his life, and he doesn’t want to see you suffer.”

“Well, whoop-dee-doo.”

“Gabriel …” Sam checked for a fever, then pushed stray locks of hair from Gabriel’s eyes. “I don’t understand. You seemed okay last night.”

“I’m still okay.”

“That’s obviously not true,” said Cas.

“Can you try and sit up?” Sam asked.

“Maybe.” He let Sam shift away and prop him against the pillows. As he watched Sam step back, face pale with concern, he had a moment’s doubt about his own pride.

Sit back down, he wanted to say, or I wouldn’t want to touch me either.

He closed his eyes.

“No,” Sam commanded. “Gabriel, don’t. Not yet. I want you to stay awake for now.”

When, and how, had this suddenly become too much? He knew how to frolic in lies. He knew how to make personal falsehoods into very real truths; pretending until he was no longer play-acting was a familiar process.

Why now, then, did he feel his throat tighten as he stared down at the blankets?

He was committed this time, though. He was well-versed in the warning signals of a breakdown and understood that there was no benefit in acting like a child. Sam had seen and dealt with enough, and Gabriel had debased himself so often that he couldn’t imagine anyone harboring even a modicum of respect for him at this point.

That was fine. He needed to learn not to care so much about his reputation at the bunker.

“Cas,” Sam said, “Maybe …”

“Yes. Of course.” Gabriel felt his brother watching him. “If you need me, I’m nearby. Although I suspect you know what you’re doing, Sam.”

“Thanks. I think we’ll be okay.”

Gabriel heard the door close.

“All right,” Sam said, “I know you don’t like to be coerced into talking to me, and usually I’d let up a little, but if you’re sick you need to tell me.”

“I’m not.”

“Then what happened just now?”

“Beats me. But what do you expect?” Gabriel spoke more smoothly now, but directly to the blankets. “I used up all my grace on the satori. Can you blame me for being a little out of sorts?”

“No, of course I don’t blame you. But I’m not talking about your grace. Or at least I don’t think I am.”

“Yeah? What do you think we’re discussing here, then?”

“I don’t know.” Sam looked helpless. “You seemed fine yesterday, and now you’re - I mean, how did you go from that to this? This whole week you've been ... I mean ... I don't know. I thought ... ”

“Am I not an open book to you anymore? Good.”

“What?”

“There’s no reason for you to be inside my head. There’s no reason for you to - to know any more about me, or what happened to me, than you already do.”

Sam was silent.

“I see through your strategy, Sam,” Gabriel added, still staring at the blanket. “I - when you’re quiet, you want me to talk.”

“I’m just worried.”

“You’ve made that abundantly clear, and I don’t know what to tell you. I don’t know what I can do to make you feel better about this whole thing.”

“About what whole thing? About you trying to get well?”

“Pal, if that’s what you’re looking for - for me to get back on my own two feet - then what are you complaining about? Obviously I’m better. I haven’t cried or thrown up once since we got back, and I don’t see how that’s a questionable development.”

“No, I mean, it’s not, but - ”

“But what, Sam?”

“It’s not. Really, it isn’t.”

In the moment of silence that followed, Gabriel felt such an urge to speak, to tell the truth and recount exactly what had happened in the mountains, that he tore his gaze away from the blankets and met Sam’s eyes. He now had a choice: he could say something about what had taken place, or he could lose control of himself altogether.

If there was a third option, Gabriel didn’t see it.

“I don’t want to give you a whole novel about this,” he said. “My head is killing me.”

Sam nodded.

Gabriel hesitated for a few moments longer. Then he took a deep breath and began: “When we were out in Utah, and I took down that creeptastic freakazoid, it - you know - it did what it does. It found some way into my brain, and yammered on and on about my every thought. Which wouldn’t have been a problem in and of itself if I hadn’t - if I wasn’t - well, before, when I faced one of them, it couldn’t read my mind. I was an angel and it couldn’t get in. So what does that tell you, Sam?”

Sam looked blankly at him.

“Come on, Mr. Ivy League,” Gabriel pressed. “This is measurable proof that right now, at least, I’m more human than anything else. Plus, I’ve already got one monster in my head. I don’t need another psychic bedfellow. You mean well, I know, but - but don’t you think, Sam, that you being the way you are to me might be holding me in one place? Or making me an easier target, instead of building me back up to what I used to be?”

“I’ve never thought that.”

“Well, does this change your mind? I just wrote you a whole thesis.”

“Gabriel, if you didn’t have any power then you wouldn’t have been able to take that thing down in the first place.”

“And look at how that turned out. I can barely move.”

“That’s because you haven’t given yourself a chance to recover.”

“How was I even supposed to know I needed it? I’ve been fine this last week.”

“Have you?”

“Yes!”

"I sort of wasn’t talking about the satori.”

“Oh for the love of all things holy and unholy, Sam, stop being so dramatic. I’ve had plenty of time to tunnel my way out of this.”

“Did you get through the whole week without a flashback or nightmare? You seemed like you felt pretty good. I … should I have checked?”

The guilt in Sam’s voice made Gabriel wish he’d stayed unconscious. “No.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I said no, Sam.”

“You’re not well.” There was horror and distress on Sam’s face now. “I thought - ”

“Christ, Sam, relax.”

“Why didn’t you - ”

“Because this is on me, Sam! It always has been. And that’s almost beside the point. Geez, you know - you really need to make up your mind. Am I meant to improve by eating more and learning to calm myself down, or am I supposed to hold you like a security blanket every time my engine misfires? Which is it, Sam? Should I be strengthening the muscles that Asmodeus deflated or should I keep letting you man the ship when a storm kicks in?”

“Gabriel …”

“Answer the question. I’m serious. I can’t solve this equation no matter how creative I get with it. What am I supposed to do? For me, for you, for everyone here? I need an answer and maybe you have it. I sure as all get-out have no idea what I’m supposed to do or where I’m supposed to go without messing something up.”

Gabriel thought Sam looked like he might cry. “I guess it depends.”

“No, see, that’s not how this works. Because if this was a case-by-case endeavor, one of us would have found the balance by now. No, Sam, I don’t feel good. Why’s that? I don’t feel good when I’m alone; I don’t feel good about how I act when you step in. There’s no winning for me, and for you there’s just constant sacrifice that never leads anywhere. There’s a right and a wrong answer here, and if neither of us can figure it out, then I don’t know what to do. Just stop it.”

“Stop what?”

“Stop - stop trying to make me showcase my emotions. Maybe it works for you but it doesn’t lead to anything good for me; all it does is make me feel ashamed.”

Sam seemed at a loss for words. “I’m sorry,” he offered. “I’m not trying to make you do anything. Gabriel, I think you should just do what feels natural. If that means pretending everything’s okay, then - then fine, I guess, except I don’t think that’s what you really want.”

“Well, I don’t know what I want; as far as I’m concerned, I don’t want anything except to be more like an angel and less like a toddler.”

“I don’t think of you that way. You know that, Gabriel.”

“Sure, fine, but let’s not sugarcoat the fact that I am the way I am, and the responsibility is on me to change.”

Sam looked away, contemplating. Then he asked, “Why didn’t you tell me about what happened with the satori?”

“Because then I would’ve gotten worked up about it and so would you. You would’ve been worried about me.”

“I’m worried about you anyway.”

“Yup, I missed the mark on that one. What else is new?”

“So you think - ”

Gabriel shoved himself properly upright. “Stop it, Sam! For the love of every damn good thing left in this world, just stop it! Stop trying to coach me into a breakdown!”

Sam looked aghast. “I’m not!”

“So what are you after? You want to help? Do you want to keep me in one piece or break me into a thousand? I never know with you anymore; it - ” Gabriel took a shuddering breath and began to cry. “You know exactly what you’re doing. I’m not here for you to play with me, Sam!”

Sam stood up. “Gabriel - ”

“Is this what you want?” Gabriel raised his face so that Sam could see the tears. “You think that bullying me into showing my feelings is going to lead to success? I don’t like myself like this! I don’t want you to see and you keep on trying to open me up just like he did! Stop it, Sam! Stop it!”

“No, no - hey - ” Helplessly, Sam took his hand and Gabriel tore it away. “I - Gabriel - should I get Castiel?”

“No!”

“I don’t want you to be alone.”

“Neither do I!” Gabriel pounded the mattress with his fist. “So stay, because I need you here, and I hate you for that and I hate me for that too. I hate all of this!”

“I know you do.” Sam’s voice shook. “But you haven’t done anything wrong. Maybe I have; I don’t know. But none of this is your fault. I’m so sorry if I messed up.”

“You didn’t! I did! I don’t know! Stop it!” Gabriel took frantic breaths, tasting salt where the tears met his lips.

“You said I was like him.” Sam sounded weak. “If I ever made you feel that way, it was an accident.”

“You’re not like him; you - you’re trying to do something to me, and so was he, and I don’t know how to tell the difference between you pushing me to bleed out in front of you and him ripping me open with his bare hands!”

“I had no idea that’s what I was doing!”

“Because you’re - Sam, you’re - ” Gabriel found himself unable to breathe for a moment. When he managed it again, he said, “You’re not evil.”

That seemed to perplex Sam. “I hope not.”

“Of course you aren’t. But do you have any idea what that does to me?”

“I … no, I guess I don’t.”

Gabriel didn’t know either. He ground his teeth against the urge to scream.

No one will be here for long; it’s all pretend.

“I wasn’t like this before,” he said.

“That’s because you weren’t trapped in Hell before.”

“You’ve been trapped in Hell! And you’re nothing like this! Talk all day about how you need help, about how you have your bad dreams and your breakdowns - but you’re nothing like this, nothing like what I turned into.”

Not one of them wants you.

“That thing knew,” Gabriel wailed. “That thing knew exactly what I believe, exactly what I’m afraid of; that thing got into my head in a way even I can’t get into my head! I don’t have any control anymore, Sam - none.”

Not one of them wants you.

“That creature thought I was human, Sam,” Gabriel whispered. “Feeding on your kindness hasn’t done anything except squash me.”

Not one of them wants you.

“I know I can’t really understand what it’s like, exactly,” said Sam, “But what scares you so bad about being human? Especially if you know you aren’t, and your grace always comes back - even it’s on the slower side.”

Gabriel shook his head. “It’s not about the grace.” He swiped at his cheeks with his palms. “It’s about this.”

“About …”

Gabriel looked at him. “Do you know, and you’re just trying to get me to say it?”

“No! I’m not trying to make you say anything.”

Gabriel wasn’t sure he believed him, but lacked the energy to argue. “Well, then it’s about - it’s about the stuff in my head, and how I seem to be open season for anyone who wants a shot, for better or worse. In your case, it’s for the better; you don’t want to hurt me, or at least I don’t think you do. But you still know. You still see inside of me, and I’d give anything at all for a little emotional opacity. I’m weak, maybe as weak as I was in Hell.”

“No.”

“At least in my stupid cage I had a consistent idea of what the next day might bring. I anticipated chaos. He’d destroyed me, on purpose, for fun - so after a little while, I didn’t have to pretend I was holding myself together. Giving up the effort was easy enough; I had no choice. Well - no - unless I did have a choice, and made the wrong one. But he had power over me and I was used to being hurt. I didn’t have to play at not being vulnerable. It’s not like that anymore, Sam.”

“Shouldn’t that be a good thing?”

“You’d expect so, wouldn’t you? Me too. I’ve lost track of what’s good and what’s bad. So it’s not my grace I’m worried about. Or - no, that’s not true. I do worry about my grace, because I don’t know what the heck I’m supposed to be without it. It’s more like - it’s that worrying about my grace is almost a luxury right now. If I get to lose sleep over how much grace I have instead of how easily I get scared and lose control of myself, I count myself lucky.”

Sam frowned, trying to grasp what Gabriel was telling him.

Sometimes Sam understood, and sometimes he couldn’t relate. In this case, Gabriel suspected, Sam was at a loss because at no point in his life had he ever known genuine autonomy. With Gabriel, it was different: independence and secrecy were everything to him.

“I’m sorry,” Gabriel muttered. “I know I don’t make this easy for you.”

Sam was silent for a moment longer, then asked: “Can I tell you something?”

Gabriel froze. This wasn’t the first time he’d become immobile over the possibility of Sam explaining that no, he really couldn’t do this anymore. Perhaps this was the paralysis to which the satori had referred.

“It’s nothing bad,” Sam added hastily, in yet another demonstration of how naturally he could read Gabriel. “I just wanted to say that I don’t look down on you for being affected by your time with Asmodeus. Of course you freak out sometimes; who wouldn’t? And don’t say anything about me," he added as Gabriel opened his mouth. "I’ve been out of Hell a lot longer than you, and you were gone for so long … there’s a lot you didn’t see.” Bitterness crept into Sam’s voice. “Anyway, you can’t help what this has done to you. But hey, you know who would judge you for struggling? Asmodeus. Not me. Not any of us, but especially not me.”

Gabriel tried to respond, but there was no way to speak around the tightness in his throat and chest. The sincerity in Sam’s voice hurt him.

Finally, he managed: “You set that up to sound so dramatic.”

Sam smiled. “Sorry.”

Neither of them spoke for a while after that, although the break in conversation felt natural, not awkward.

Gabriel was fighting sleep when Sam broke the silence. “You’re convincing, you know that?”

“I’m what?”

“The way you just … slipped into your old role. I was surprised, but it didn’t seem forced. The way you spoke up for yourself at dinner last night was impressive. Normally you would’ve been scared of getting in trouble.”

“Hm.” Gabriel considered. “Well, I’ve said it before, Sam: I don’t know who or what I was before Asmodeus. Something changed; that’s all I can tell you.”

“And I was thinking - you know, even before we got back from the mountains, I saw something different. You pushed to come, and then you broke your promise about staying in the motel. I don’t know, maybe I’m off, but that’s a decision you might not have made before.”

“It was important. If something happened to you because I was too afraid to help, that would’ve been punishment on its own. It was a no-win situation so I took the option that I knew would keep you alive.”

“But you probably weren’t so sure about whether you would come out okay.” There was no accusation in Sam’s voice; he was merely making an observation.

“No,” Gabriel agreed, “I didn’t.”

Sam went on, “And it says something, doesn’t it, that you were able to put on such a good act? That’s an old talent that maybe you haven’t tapped into in a while.”

“It must not have been as good as you say, because your brother picked up on it somehow.”

Sam looked surprised. “When?”

“Last night he cornered me about how it isn’t standard to switch from empty to full in such a short span of time. Said I should go to you if I needed help.”

“Wow." Sam blinked. "I guess I don’t really know what to make of that.”

“Well, to me it means that some lucky winner always has access to my cesspit of a brain. Whether that’s you, or Dean, or Asmodeus, or a mountain-dwelling monster.”

“Oh geez, Gabriel …” Sam reached out to squeeze his shoulder. “It’s not like that, buddy.”

“Of course it is. Everybody gets a piece of me if they want it.” Gabriel turned his eyes to the sheets again, fighting tears. “And when I wasn’t whatever I am now, the satori couldn’t get into my head. Like I said - proof, Sam. Proof so concrete you could draw chalk around it. Proof.”

Sam shook his head, but didn’t seem to know what to say.

“I can’t stay awake,” Gabriel muttered, because it sounded more reasonable than When you look at me like that, you’re proving my point. “Can I rest a little bit?”

Sam hesitated. “Let me wake you up in twenty minutes. Just to make sure you’re not out cold again. Then, if you’re okay - another hour, and we can take it from there.”

“Fine.” Gabriel hated the idea of being shaken awake in such a short time, but hadn’t the stamina to argue.

Sam helped adjust Gabriel’s position so that he was lying down, then pulled the blankets around Gabriel’s shoulders. He didn’t move to leave.

“The witch had a familiar. Guess she’d trained it to go after anyone who might want to mess with her.” “Was her familiar a saber-toothed tiger?”

“Not exactly, no.”

“A wolf?”

“No. She had a, uh - ” Sam cleared his throat. “A gerbil she’d probably done some powerful spellwork on.”

“Perfect! There’s your story for any awkward silence at the next family reunion. Can I try and heal you? You got bitten like chum.”

“Definitely not. Don’t waste any of your grace on this.”

“Whether ‘this’ was from the Loch Ness monster or a jacked class pet doesn’t make any difference to me. Come on, get over here.”

Sam gave a sigh and stepped nearer so that he could offer his hand. Gabriel grabbed him by the wrist and examined the wound, which was no longer bleeding but evidently had not been properly sanitized.

He pressed his thumb into the jagged cut, waited a moment (I’m gonna look like a tool if this doesn’t work), and let a warm pulse of grace permeate the skin. Gabriel’s own human form crawled with gooseflesh as the surge of power rose up and then ebbed out of him. He pulled away once the damage was no longer visible.

“Look at that!” he declared, taken aback by the pride in his voice. “No big deal.”

Sam studied his hand and then grinned at Gabriel. “Thanks. Nice work.”

“Keep away from any and all furry fiends, Sam.” A wave of exhaustion overtook Gabriel on the tail end of the sentence. “Yeah, um … listen, I’m glad you’re safe and sound. And I guess maybe it’s been a long morning or something, so I’m gonna go ahead and kick back for a good half hour or so. That sound okay to you?”

“You’re tired because you just used up your grace.” Gabriel could see it: Sam was making a conspicuous effort not to appear perturbed. “Gabe, man, you really didn’t - ”

“It’s not that, it’s not that; I just … I just need …” Gabriel rubbed his forehead. “Whatever, I’m all right; I just want to lie down for a few minutes. You know me. I’m like Manhattan: sexy, psychotic, and eternally sleepless.”

Sam looked concerned, but nodded. “Sure. I’ll be around if you need anything.”

Once Sam had left, closing the door in his wake, Gabriel felt sleep overcome him in a way it typically didn’t when he tried to fall asleep at night. His entire body was worn down, as if he had forced it to its limits over a number of hours. He almost wished he hadn’t offered to heal Sam; what use would he be if something more serious came up?

But he had little time to dwell on the question, as exhaustion overwhelmed the ability to think.

He slept deeply, as he almost never did; and in the abyss of his own subconscious, he heard voices.

I can’t be alone with them, I can’t; I don’t know them!

Shut your mouth, you spoiled little weasel. They gon’ be good to you; ain’t that right, boys?

I don’t know them; I don’t know them!

Oh, well now, you’ll get to know them soon enough. And ain’t these fellas just so lucky to ignite a friendship with my favorite archangel? Sometimes I wish I could make your acquaintance all over again, boy. There ain’t nothin’ like the first time.

I don’t know them; I don’t know them! Please, no, wait! Why won’t you listen to me? Why won’t you touch me? Stop it! Stop it! Look at me! Help me!

What happened in his dreams seemed to last hours; and indeed, when the door creaked open and a small voice called his name, the time was 5:00 P.M. - three and a half hours since Gabriel had told Sam he needed rest.

“Are you okay?” Jack called. “Sam told me to come check on you.”

With the flat, bitter taste of afternoon slumber in his mouth, Gabriel sat up. His face felt warm where it had pressed into the pillow. “Yeah. Yes. Apparently Sam went and got himself chewed up by a bloodthirsty hamster, and I thought it wouldn’t be a big deal to try and fix it. Guess I had less in me than I thought.”

Jack nodded. “Okay. It was a gerbil, by the way. Not a hamster.”

“Whatever. Something in the category of small, furry, and unexpectedly lethal.”

“You know how witches are. Imagine what Rowena could do with a gerbil.”

Gabriel yawned. “Guess I’ve never thought about it.”

“You’re not shaking, are you?”

“Me? Nah.”

Jack stared at him. "I don't like seeing you like this."

"No refunds. Sorry, little guy.”

Jack watched him for a few moments, then strode over to the bed and wrapped his arms around Gabriel.

Jack pulled away, crestfallen. "Oh. I'm ... I'm sorry. I guess I thought I could help. If I had my powers, I ... maybe I could do more."

Gabriel shook his head. "Doubt it, bud. Don't feel bad, all right? This isn't about anything you're doing wrong. It's about me being too icky for you. Don't want you to get whatever disease it is I've turned into." Gabriel hadn’t anticipated this bitterness, especially not in front of Jack. The rush of self-loathing had seized him without warning.

Jack's expression creased into an odd mix of horror and puzzlement. Perhaps he sensed that these words were troubling, but didn’t fully understand them.

“You go ahead and tell Sam I’ll be right out,” Gabriel said, feeling as though he had just violated his nephew in some way. “Go on, let him know. I just need to stretch, all right?”

Slowly, Jack nodded. “Are you upset because I hugged you?”

“No! No, come on; I’m not upset over that, or over anything else. Don’t worry so much. I’m a grown-ass angel and can take care of my own damn self. And even if I couldn’t, the job isn’t yours.”

Jack seemed uncertain of what to say in response, so he simply nodded again, forced a smile, and exited the bedroom.

“Close the door,” Gabriel called. “I like to get my bearings in solitude.”

“Sure,” said Jack, although he sounded anything but sure.

Once the door was shut and Jack’s footsteps - lighter than Sam’s, more staccato - Gabriel squeezed his eyes shut and took a deep breath. He would have liked to have been able to shake the dream off before heading into the hall, before seeing anyone else, but it stirred its way through his insides and refused to leave.

Once he had some semblance of composure, he dragged himself out of the bedroom and into the kitchen, where he found Jack and Sam sitting at the table in conversation.

Gabriel was disappointed but not surprised to hear Jack say, “And I think something might be wrong with him, but I don’t really know what” before both of them fell silent upon Gabriel’s entry.

“Oh, hey,” said Sam. There was a mug of coffee in front of him, still steaming. “You feeling okay? Were you asleep that whole time?”

“I …”

Sam glanced at Jack, who looked troubled. “Give us a minute.”

“I don’t think it’s true,” Jack said, not to Sam but to Gabriel. “It’s not true what you said about being able to take care of yourself.” He sounded bewildered.

No, Gabriel realized, He sounds hurt.

“I know when you’re not telling me the truth,” Jack said.

Before Gabriel could respond, Sam put a hand on Jack’s shoulder. “For now, Jack. Okay?”

Jack looked back and forth between Sam and Gabriel, helpless, frustrated - and then jerked himself out of Sam’s grip and left the room.

Gabriel watched him leave. Once Jack was out of earshot, he said, “Kid’s messed up. My fault. He needs you more than I do.”

“No. No, he’s all right. He just wants to help and doesn’t know how.”

“Well, that’s not how things are supposed to be.”

“So, um …” Sam sat down. He was probably expecting Gabriel to do the same, but Gabriel felt more comfortable standing up. “What happened? Is something wrong? Jack said - ”

“I heard what Jack said.” Gabriel looked down, examining the floor.

“Are you okay?” Sam pressed.

“I’m fine.”

“You want me to ask Jack? See if he can confirm?”

Jack, who had been sent in place of Sam; who had been given the unfortunate duty of making sure that his uncle wasn’t in urgent need of help. Jack, who should have been too young to know anything of Gabriel’s pain. Jack, who was incapable of choosing for himself whether to opt in as caregiver or to step away from what he didn’t know - couldn’t know - was too heavy for such a naive spirit.

“No,” Gabriel said. “I would like to humbly request that you not ask him a single freakin’ thing.”

“Did you have bad dreams?”

The images floated into the present, still warm. He saw the face of a stranger (a demon whose presence had been background noise during Gabriel’s imprisonment, but who apparently had taken up space in his memory), bloated with derision and the definite appetite that only manifested in nightmares.

“Yeah,” Gabriel told Sam. “But - I mean, that’s, you know - ” Words hummed into static as he tried to think of just what to confess, and whether he ought to say anything at all. It wouldn’t necessarily do any good for either of them - and especially not for Sam, who had had only a few hours to recover from his encounter with a witch and her maniacal gerbil.

Sam gave him a moment to think before stepping in. “Look, Gabe, don’t take this the wrong way, but I think I can tell when something’s the matter with you. Jack isn’t the only one.”

“Stop talking about Jack!” Gabriel snapped, and Sam blinked in surprise.

He asked, “Can I maybe do anything to help?”

Gabriel could tell that Sam feared pushing conversation, confession, or counsel. Sam wanted to know; Sam had every right to know. Gabriel owed him at least some piece of the truth. And so he said: “I’m sorry. Maybe I just missed you while you were away.”

Sam smiled at him. “You knew I was coming back, right?”

“Sure I did.” A pause, and then: “However, there is the minor possibility that the halfway point between ‘I’ll be right back’ and ‘I’ll head home once you’ve taken out the trash’ got lost in translation.”

Sam didn’t seem to immediately understand what Gabriel meant. When his look of puzzlement became one that Gabriel couldn’t quite identify - resigned, but also horrified - Sam got to his feet and took a few steps toward Gabriel and held out the hand that, just hours earlier, had sported an ugly wound.

“Oh please,” Gabriel said. “We don’t have to do this. You don’t need to suckle me. Maybe I’m just a little shaky after kicking my grace into gear. I mean, don’t think I’m not glad to have used it; your hand looks a hundred times - ”

“Gabriel,” Sam said, “I missed you too.”

The kitchen tilted and fogged. Sam jolted forward and caught him as Gabriel’s knees buckled, although he hadn’t felt particularly weak or faint up until that moment.

Like a punch to the jaw, he thought. Enough force at once and down you go.

Sam helped him to sit at the table.

“That was on purpose,” said Gabriel. “I was trying to do a cartwheel.”

“Can I get you some water? Some coffee? There’s still a lot left.”

Gabriel shook his head. “I don’t need - I mean, there’s not much to be done when everything around me is fine.”

Sam squinted at him. “Have you eaten anything today?”

“Yes. I’m all right.” He glanced away. “Or I thought I was.”

Sam hesitated for a few seconds. Then he asked: “Did you really think I wasn’t going to come back?”

“No, that’s not what I thought.”

“Honestly, Gabriel?”

Gabriel sagged in the chair. “What difference does it make? My intuition isn’t exactly razor-fine these days. I knew you were coming back. You’ve got family here. You’ve got every reason in the world to dust your rodent-bitten hands of whatever case, turn around, and head home.”

“You can come with me next time, if you want.”

“No, I - ” The idea of Sam being forced to tote him around like a needy child humiliated Gabriel. “I just see everything as a landmine, that’s all. You know what? You could tell me, ‘By the way, we’re thinking of retiling the bathroom’ and my first thought would be, ‘Have they been hinting that I’m supposed to retile the bathroom and I was too dense to pick up on it? Are they angry? Can I do something to make up for not retiling the bathroom? Did they run out of tasks to keep me around and are trying to think of some other use for me, or - ’”

“Okay,” Sam interrupted, “I get the picture. The important thing is I’m back now; I’m here, and you’re okay. It’s all okay.”

“Great. I can feel my troubles drifting away like spider silk on the summer breeze.”

“I know it’s easier said than believed, but that still doesn’t make it less true.”

Gabriel straightened up a little. The room was no longer spinning. “Sam, I know that you wouldn’t just, you know, completely disappear. I know that, okay? And even if you did go AWOL, I’ve got a whole team over here; it’s not like you’d be replaced with a stranger or - or anyone who wanted to hurt me. I know that,” he emphasized, and Sam, looking concerned, didn’t reply. “But,” Gabriel added, “I think I may have fallen into a little bit of an old pattern without realizing it. And I can’t really say why now, out of the blue. It isn’t as if you haven’t left for days at a time to do your job.”

“Is this the first time you ever felt that way when I left? Like I wasn’t going to come home? Like I was going to leave you to someone else?”

“Yes,” Gabriel said, before he realized that that was actually wrong. In fact, he couldn’t remember an instance of Sam traveling when Gabriel hadn’t been, at the very least, nervous about being left without him. “I mean, no, but I haven’t had a nightmare about it. Not one this bad, not one this gruesome.” He swallowed. “I guess I was catching up on lost sleep, especially after using my grace.”

“What’d you dream about?”

“Oh, I dreamed about Asmodeus. And about some other demon I thought I’d maybe forgotten. One who watched over me once or twice when he - when Asmodeus - had other business to attend to. He would do to me everything Asmodeus did, only - only when he did it, it just felt different, because I didn’t even know his name. I used to plead with Asmodeus not to go, but sometimes he had to, I guess, and he left me. I look back on it, and I see that he couldn’t have stuck around for me all the time, but - ”

“Gabriel,” Sam interjected, “Can I ask you something?”

“Is it a less foreboding question than ‘can I ask you something’?”

“I want to know,” Sam said, “Why you end up trying to defend him.”

“What? I don’t do that.”

“Yeah, you do. He had no right to - ”

“I know, I know. He was in the wrong; I was the unwitting beaten animal. I don’t want to talk about that.”

“I just don’t want you to - ”

“In any case, when he left I felt exposed. When it was him, I mostly knew what to expect, even if it was just a familiar face. I remember screaming and begging with him not to leave me by myself, either with no one or with someone I didn’t really know. I remember him laughing at me whenever I did that, or just pretending like he couldn’t hear me.” Gabriel shivered.

Sam took his hand. “It’s okay. That won’t happen to you again.”

“Yeah, I know that.”

“Good.”

“What are we gonna do about Jack?”

“Jack? I told you, Jack’s fine.”

“No, he’s confused. He thinks he wants to help me, and he doesn’t know that he can’t. Of everything that’s eaten away at his innocence, I think I might be the biggest culprit.”

“What? Jeez, Gabriel, that really couldn’t be farther from the truth. And anyway, I thought you didn’t want to talk about Jack anymore.”

“I want to be better for him. Or I at least want him to see something that isn’t this. Something that isn’t me the way I am now.”

“Don’t twist yourself in knots over Jack. There’s nothing to worry about.”

“Why did you send him in?”

Sam frowned. “When? To check on you?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t know, I was making coffee and I thought he might like to see you.” Sam suddenly looked troubled. “That’s really all it was. I wasn’t trying to stay away from you.”

“Yeah. I, uh … I know.” Gabriel focused on breathing steadily - not too shallow, not too deep - and on the weight of Sam’s hand. “You get it, right? That I trust the others, I do; but I don’t trust them the same way, exactly. You know? I can’t help that. I try, and I can’t. They care a lot; they show that they care and I like that. But it still - it feels different with you. I wish I could get everyone on the same level, Sam; it’d only be fair to you, and to them, if I could learn not to be afraid of anybody. I just don’t know how to be as okay with them as I am with you. I keep trying to fight that - I keep trying to remind myself that nobody here is dangerous. And that maybe I can ask them for the same things I would come to you for. You know, after a nightmare, or when my mind goes dark. It just feels different when you’re gone, Sam.”

Sam squeezed his hand. “That’s okay.”

“I don’t - ” Gabriel’s throat was tight. “I’m not - I still find Castiel sometimes, when I need help in the middle of the night. Wanna give you a break. He helps. Next to you, he’s the one who feels least like Asmodeus. I mean, there’s Jack, of course, but he’s a different ballgame. I can’t tell my brother the truth, though. I can’t tell him that I don’t really want him. He tries so hard and he’s a superstar. Even when I’m awake, with him, and - and crying, or sick, I can never bring myself to tell him what I’m really thinking. I can’t explain to him that a part of why I can’t really calm myself down is that I feel like I need you there.”

Sam seemed at a loss. “I don’t think that would bother Cas.”

“It’s difficult; it’s confusing to need the things that I do. It’s confusing to be this lost and out of control and dependent. I don’t think I’m handling it right.”

“There’s no right way. No wrong way, either.”

“I appreciate the sentiment, Sam, but that’s just plain not true. There is a whole world of wrong ways to move through this experience. Someone with more sense would know that the aftermath of something like what happened to me isn’t as bad as being in the thick of it. But me, I can’t seem to get the one stubborn foot out of Hell no matter how hard I pull at it.” Gabriel felt his heartbeat entwine with the knot in his throat, making it hard to breathe. “I’m not supposed to need this.”

“To need what?”

“Not supposed to need to cry, I guess. I don’t think that’s the right way to get through this. What good’s crying gonna do, you know? It’s not helpful and it’s degrading.”

“It’s pretty normal, I think.”

“I don’t want it to become so frequent that - that you - ” As if his body was in a state of defiance, he felt tears slip down the edges of his nose. “That you see it so much it becomes background noise. That you don’t think - that you don’t take it seriously. I think that was part of why he started to just turn away from me. He’d seen me upset too many times to think anything of it.”

“Jesus, Gabriel, you keep trying to make this into your fault.”

“I want you to know that when I can’t - can’t hold myself together, it means nothing.”

“That’s not what I think when you cry, Gabriel.”

“After a while, though - ”

“No. And besides, you know how I feel about trying to keep it all inside.”

“Can we, uh - ” Gabriel dragged a shaking hand across his cheeks. “Can we maybe go somewhere else? I don’t want Jack to walk in and see this.”

“I can take you to my room. Can you get to your feet okay?”

Gabriel nodded and stood up, although the task proved more of a challenge than he had anticipated. Something in him was desperate not to move: he wanted to hide, to seek shelter in his own smallness.

“Come on.” Sam took his shoulder and steered him down the hall. Gabriel trained his eyes on the floor; if Jack was nearby, Gabriel wouldn’t have known.

Sam shut the door behind them as they entered the bedroom. Gabriel immediately curled up on the bed, face in his knees, hands gripping his hair.

He felt Sam sit next to him. “Hey, buddy, deep breaths.”

Gabriel couldn’t bring himself to look up. He hated himself for what he wanted just then: more than anything, he hoped that Sam would put an arm around him, or that Sam would hold him. But Sam was probably using caution, afraid that Gabriel would recoil from touch.

I don’t need that anyway, Gabriel told himself. I don’t need it. I don’t. I don’t need that.

“Not sure if this makes any difference,” Sam said after a while, “But try not to forget that I - that all of us - we understand what it feels like, you know. At least in some way. We all know what it’s like to want to look good for each other. All of us have been hurt pretty bad at some point. We don’t need each other any less than you need me. And we know how it feels to not want to tell the truth about that.”

Gabriel turned his head so that it rested sideways on his knees and he could look at Sam, who went on: “I just want you to keep in mind that however much you don’t like how things are right now, this isn’t you having a weird reaction to Amsodeus. I know it feels gross, but it isn’t wrong, Gabriel.”

“Doesn’t really matter,” Gabriel whispered. “I feel like I’m wrong just because of whatever it is he made me into. I’m disgusting.”

“You’re really not.”

“I can feel it, Sam. The feeling of just being something wrong. I don’t know how to explain it.”

“You don’t have to,” Sam told him, and Gabriel’s chest tightened at the realization that Sam knew precisely the feeling he was talking about.

“I wonder what he thought when he saw me like this,” Gabriel said hoarsely. “Sometimes he wasn’t exactly upfront about what was going on in his mind. What did he think when he saw this diseased little rodent clawing for a split second’s attention?”

Sam looked vaguely ill at these words. “It doesn’t matter what he thought of you.”

“It does matter, because I want to know that you aren’t thinking the same thing about me.”

“Well, I certainly don’t see you as a … a ‘diseased rodent.’ Where’d you come up with that? Gerbil still on your mind, huh?”

Gabriel couldn’t bring himself to return Sam’s half-hearted smile.

“I don’t see that at all,” Sam insisted. “I just see you.”

“Ugh. That’s worse.”

“You’re different. I see that. And I don’t know if I’ll ever get used to you being so … different. Not because it’s bad; not because it’s wrong. Just because it’s, you know …”

“Different,” Gabriel muttered.

“Right. Because ‘different’ is what happens when you’ve had everything taken from you.”

Gabriel was silent.

“You’re still Gabriel, though,” Sam reminded him.

Gabriel closed his eyes. “I don’t know if that’s what I want to be.”

“You have a choice now. You can be Gabriel any way you like.”

Gabriel hid his face again.

So Sam saw him. He saw Gabriel. And when Sam saw this terrified, sobbing phantom of what Gabriel had once been, did he really think he was seeing the true Gabriel?

And why? Gabriel thought. Why won’t he touch me?

Sam’s voice broke through once more. “Asmodeus didn’t leave you with anything good, Gabriel. All he gave you was violence and fear and shame. And look - I don’t know about you, but I think it makes sense that it’d take some work to get back any of the good things he kept out of reach.”

Gabriel raised his head, showcasing what he felt was probably a grotesquely tear-stained visage. “Sure it does. Except that if he kept all that for so long, he must have had a reason. I don’t know that I want to put up a fight for happiness I don’t even deserve.”

“You do deserve it, and you should put up a fight.”

“I don’t know if I - ”

“Then I’ll put up a fight,” Sam said. “Okay?”

Almost involuntarily, as if seizing, Gabriel jerked sideways and used both hands to grab onto Sam’s arm. He squeezed tightly, not sure exactly what he was doing or why. It felt primitive and desperate.

Sam’s features softened. “Hey, hey …”

“Is it okay?” Gabriel asked hoarsely. “Is it okay if I touch you?”

“Of course it’s okay.”

The bewilderment in Sam’s voice served as a reminder that Gabriel was being stupid and overly cautious, that Sam definitely didn’t mind touching him, ever; but the fear was present no matter how irrational Gabriel understood it to be.

In fact, he realized, it wasn’t fear that plagued him as he worried about Sam’s potential aversion: it was something nearer shame.

Yes, he thought, of course he was ashamed - he wasn’t afraid of Sam not wanting to touch him; he was guilty that he wanted Sam to touch him when he knew that nobody should have to.

“What’s wrong?” asked Sam, seeing that Gabriel hadn’t moved and was still clutching Sam’s arm.

“I don’t know,” Gabriel mumbled. “I think I might just be stupid.”

“No! You’re not stupid; you’re stressed.”

“I thought - you know, if you wanted to keep your hands to yourself, it’d be justified.”

“What? Listen, if you need something from me, Gabriel - some time to talk, or a hug - ”

“I can ask, I know. But I - ”

“But you don’t.”

“Well yeah, because what if you don’t want me around?”

“Come on, Gabriel, I do want you around.” Sam put a hand on Gabriel’s arm and pulled him in for an embrace. “God, you’re gonna drive yourself crazy.”

“Oh, that ship left the dock a long time ago.”

They sat in silence for several minutes. Sam held onto him, and Gabriel didn’t try to hug back. He just let himself lean against Sam, not speaking, not crying.

“Sam,” he said finally.

“Yeah?”

“Please don’t get it into your head that you can’t leave to do your job. Don’t ever feel guilty about not being in my immediate vicinity just because I’m scared of my own reflection. Okay?”

“Sure, Gabriel. Okay.”

“I really mean it. Don’t let this change the way you operate. I came into your life by accident and you don’t need to take maternity leave for something that shouldn’t have thrown your life into chaos.”

Sam laughed. “I wasn’t working nine to five before you showed up, Gabriel.”

“You know what I mean, don’t you?”

“I do. I get it. You don’t have to worry about that; I’m glad you’re here. I like having you around. I wouldn’t say it if I wasn’t being honest.”

Gabriel wasn’t sure how to explain that, in some ways, it would have been easier to accept the notion that Sam was lying.

Instead, he said: “I was so afraid of him, Sam.”

“I know.”

“He … but I was afraid of being left alone, too. Sometimes. I was afraid of the other demons, the ones I didn’t know. I never knew what to expect from them. They had weapons, and tricks, and insults, and - even the stupid ones were terrible; any simpleton can learn what violence is. And they watched him; they knew how to hurt me. They’d seen what he did to me. I was his toy and they were just happy to get a turn.”

Sam stiffened.

“So when you’re gone,” Gabriel whispered into his shoulder, “And I’m here with someone else, anyone else, a little of that just creeps on in. That’s all. I knew you were coming back, but I felt differently. I know Dean doesn’t want to hurt me. Or Cas, or Jack. When it was just me and those two, I didn’t - I knew I wasn’t threatened. None of this crew have ever given me any reason to believe I’m in danger around them. It’s just a dumb feeling.”

Sam sighed. “No, it’s not dumb. But you’re right: they’re not going to do anything to you.”

“When he’d come back,” Gabriel added, “He would brutalize me all over again. Taking my grace whenever there was enough to go around. Beating me until I couldn’t remember my own name. Just tearing me apart in any way he could.” Gabriel shook his head. “Didn’t matter how much I cried. He thought it was funny. ‘What a whiner,’ he’d say. ‘It’s almost like you think you didn’t deserve it.’”

“Gabriel, god!”

“Yeah, and then he’d - you know - off he’d go, leaving me sobbing like a baby. I kept hoping he’d hear me from wherever he was; I thought maybe he’d at least pay me some attention. Even if it was just to yell at me. No one wants to be wailing into their own blood and vomit solo.

“But it was my fault, always my fault. It was always me. I was the one who’d said something out of bounds; I was the one who asked for something I wasn’t supposed to want; I was the one who - who - ” Gabriel pressed himself against Sam. “And if he did show up, he’d ignore me. Turn his back, go about his business. I may as well have been any soul in Hell, just radio static.

“And when he did notice me, when he decided to stop shutting me out, he’d just say to shut up; or sometimes, for whatever reason, he would switch things up and give me a little spoonful of comfort before finding some other reason to grab me off the floor and slam me into the wall and then hold me down so he could play.”

Sam took a shivery breath. “I - yeah. Yeah, okay. Okay.”

“So when you’re gone, Sam, I can’t always think rationally. It’s as if maybe you want nothing to do with me, and the others - well, Sam’s not here to protect this nuisance who’s taken over our lives, so let’s get in what we can. And then it’s - it’s - if you don’t come back, what am I supposed to do? Who am I supposed to trust?”

There was a pause. When Sam replied, he sounded restrained. “I really didn’t think about that.”

“Because there’s no reason to! Because you’ve got a brain that operates according to fact! Whereas mine leaps in any direction it sees fit in response to any threat, any hazard. And Sam, everything is a threat. Everything is a hazard. Compared to you, the others are strangers to me, and I don’t like strangers; I don’t trust them; I don’t know them.”

“I would never leave you with strangers.”

“And you shouldn’t have to leave me with anyone, Sam! I’m supposed to be able to watch over myself like a damn grown-up! But I can’t, not anymore; and who knows if the day will ever come when I’ll be able to take care of myself again? The important thing is I know you aren’t leaving me with strangers. What little remains of my rational mind finds that obvious. But these old ways of thinking, they just - they’re next to impossible for me to shake off.”

“I know.”

“That’s all this is. Old habits. Old ways of looking at what’s around me. Or what’s not.”

“I guess I’m glad you know that.” By now, Sam sounded almost as shaken as Gabriel did.

“If I could just balance out the knowing and the feeling, everything would be a whole lot easier for every single one of us. And one thing I don’t understand is …” But he trailed off, afraid of saying something the wrong way, or of being misunderstood, or - worst of all - overstepping a boundary.

“What?” Sam asked. “What is it, Gabe?”

Gabriel shook his head.

Sam sighed. “Okay. All right.”

“No, it’s … all I was gonna say is that …” Gabriel was glad that Sam couldn’t see his face. “Maybe it’s because you were the only one who really tried, the only one who really showed a lot of concern for this deflated ragdoll of an angel that somehow ended up in your custody like a doorstep newborn. Maybe it’s just something about you, I don’t know. Something you have that the others don’t. I’m not sure, Sam. All I know is I have this - this gut-based terror about losing you. Not necessarily because you’ll get sick of me, but because - because - see, I don’t know. I feel it when you hold me like you are right now; the idea of letting go scares me more than Asmodeus ever did.”

He was afraid to look up, but he did; and Gabriel was horrified to see that Sam’s eyes were glossy with tears.

Gabriel wrenched himself away. “Don’t, don’t do that! I’m not trying to make anyone more upset. It’s not anything you’re doing wrong. It’s not that you could be doing anything different, Sam; you’re better at handling me than anyone has any right or reason to be.”

“Well …” Sam closed his eyes, gathered his composure. “Right.”

“I’m putting so much pressure on you with those words, aren’t I?” Gabriel was shivering now. “I’m making you think you have to be perfect, that you have to be next to me a hundred percent of the time.”

Sam swallowed and shook his head. “No, that’s not what I was thinking. I just wish you didn’t feel that way, is all. I wish you weren’t so … that he hadn’t made you feel like …”

“Right?” said Gabriel. “It’s hard to articulate, isn’t it? I can’t figure it out, and I don’t know what to do with it. Wanting the - needing to be taken care of the way I do lately, and needing it to be you, and being so scared to death that you might be there one second and gone the next. I don’t understand that feeling.

“There’s time to figure it out. Stop trying to force yourself to understand everything, Gabriel. You don’t have to, and it’ll probably come with time.” Sam looked flushed, but his eyes were dry now.

There was a sound from the hallway: a door opening, and small, tentative footsteps. They paused outside the door, and then moved on until neither Gabriel nor Sam could hear them.

“Jack came in and hugged me,” Gabriel told Sam.

“Oh. Sorry about that. I did say - ”

“No, it’s all right. I’m only bringing it up so you know you don’t have to warn him not to touch me. He can touch me. If he wants to.”

“What about what you want?”

“I … no, I just mean that maybe I’m not … not good for …” Gabriel gave a frustrated sigh, still speaking into Sam’s shoulder. “It’s fine.”

“I know you still worry about that.”

“About what?”

“I know that you worry about corrupting Jack.”

“I don’t know that I ever used the word ‘corrupt.’”

“But Gabriel, he cares about you. He looks up to you. And I know you think that’s a bad thing, but he likes you just the way you are now. He knows you’ve been through more than your fair share of trauma. He’s seen you when you’re not feeling your best. And he still wants to be around you. Listen, I’m not here to tell you what to do, but I really don’t think you should push him away.”

“I let him hug me! I’m not pushing him away. I’m trying to protect him.”

“But why? What good do you think is going to come of him seeing that you’re hurt, and walking away without any understanding of what’s going on? It’s better for him if he can learn how to help. Otherwise he’s going to feel like you don’t trust him.”

Gabriel froze. “Has … has he said that to you?”

“Not in so many words, no. He doesn’t always know how to articulate himself, or what’s frustrating him. You’re right: in a lot of ways, he’s just a kid. And I think instead of trying to stop him seeing you like this, you might teach him that wanting to help isn’t a bad thing. I just - I don’t want him to get the idea that he should try not to act the way he does. Loving you, caring about you. If you tell him no, if you keep trying to make him stay away from you when you most need somebody … he might get it into his head that he’s wrong to have those instincts.”

“Wait, what? What does that mean? So I’m - am I corrupting him by making it seem like it’s bad to be compassionate? That’s a whole new kind of crisis.”

“Not corrupting him. Just maybe sending a message that he finds confusing, since it goes against his nature.”

Gabriel considered this for a few moments.

Sam waited.

Then, finally Gabriel asked: “Where’d he go?”

“I don’t know. Back to the kitchen, maybe.”

“I guess I should talk to him, shouldn’t I?”

“You don’t have to. Not right now. Just let him in when he wants to give you what you need.”

“No, I - let me go find him.” Gabriel started to rise from the bed, but Sam gently pulled him back down.

“What?” Gabriel demanded. “You think I shouldn’t talk to him?”

“It’s not that,” Sam replied. “I just want to make sure you’re not mad at yourself.”

“Not any more than usual.”

“If you go to him and say you hate yourself for ‘corrupting’ him any which way, you’re both gonna miss my point.”

“Please,” Gabriel said. “I just - I really - will you please let me talk to him?”

Sam looked pained. “I’m not going to keep you from talking to him. It’s up to you. I just want to make sure you feel okay.”

Gabriel stood up again. “I never feel okay.”

“Why don’t I go get him for you?” Sam suggested.

“You can do that as long as you don’t give him a contract to sign about when it’s okay to touch me.” Gabriel wasn’t sure why this was such a sticking point for him, but Sam’s words about Jack’s natural character, and about his impulses to express affection, made it seem more logical.

“I’ll get him for you,” Sam repeated. “Gabriel - ”

“Please, Sam. Either you can grab the kid or I can, but I really want to talk to him.”

Sam nodded, studying him, making sure. Then he patted Gabriel on the shoulder and left the room.

Jack came in a couple of minutes later, looking nervous.

“Hey, bud,” said Gabriel.

Jack raised a hand in a silent, tentative greeting.

“Wanted to have a word. Sit?”

Jack sat beside him. “Am I in trouble?”

“Oh, please. You sound like your uncle.”

“Listen, if this is about me hugging you …”

“No, come on, kid; you didn’t do anything wrong.” Gabriel worried that Jack was picking up on some of his more neurotic interpersonal habits. “I wanted to thank you. And before you ask for what, you should know that you’re … you’re good, you’re a good bean; and I’m the one who isn’t doing what I should be. I’m not - Jack, I don’t mean to tell you to bug off when I know you only mean to help.”

“I know you think I’m too - ”

“I don’t think you’re too anything. I think I’m too - too me to let you get past a whole lot of nonsense. Look, I don’t wanna make this more complicated than it has to be; what I’m trying to say is that I’m not proud of myself for swatting at you like a fly when, in a perfect world, everybody would be like you.”

“Oh.” Jack looked down at his knees, thoughtful and perplexed.

“Don’t try to change yourself on account of my orneriness,” Gabriel clarified. “Be nice. Be good. Be you. You’ll just have to be patient with your stubborn old uncle. Sam can tell you that I’m difficult.”

Jack looked back up at him.

“Do you get what I’m saying?” Gabriel asked. “I don’t know how to explain it any more eloquently than that.”

Jack nodded. “I think I do.” Gabriel waited for him to explain the concept, to paraphrase what he had just been told; but Jack said nothing, and Gabriel could only assume that the message had gotten through.

Finally, Jack replied, “I’m sorry too.”

“No - kid - I’m trying to say you have nothing - ”

“I mean I’m sorry about what happened to you. I’m sorry you got hurt. That’s all.”

Gabriel clamped his lips shut. He could only nod.

Jack stared at him, studying him, reading him like a map.

Gabriel gave a hoarse laugh. “Is there something in my teeth?”

“Do you want me to go get Sam?” Jack asked.

“No.”

“You looked like - ”

“I always look like that. Anyway, Jack, I hope you understand - at least a teensy bit - what it is I’m trying to explain to you. I’m sorry that I can’t wrangle a single thought into words.”

“I think I understand.” Jack hesitated, then asked: “So how can I help? What can I do?”

“Ah, I don’t know; you’ve already been doing everything right. I’m the one who’s trying to fight you on it. So just … just keep doing what you’re doing.” It pained Gabriel to say it. He agreed with Sam, but he could hardly stomach the instant guilt that came with implicitly encouraging Jack to watch Gabriel struggle.

Jack smiled, and Gabriel thought he saw relief in his eyes. “Okay. Sure. Thanks.”

“Oh, please. Thank you.” Gabriel felt that he ought to try and touch Jack and was ashamed that he couldn’t bring himself to initiate contact.

Someday, he told himself.

Jack stood up to go. “I hope you feel better later.”

“I already do.”

“You look - ”

Gabriel held up a hand. “Again: I always look like that.”

Sam reentered immediately after Jack made his exit. He looked tense and wide-eyed and was evidently trying to conceal his agitation. “Hey.”

“I’m fine,” said Gabriel.

“Did it - ”

“Everyone’s fine, Sam.”

“Listen,” Sam said, stepping over to the bed, “I really didn’t mean to make you think you were doing something wrong.”

“Except that I was doing something wrong, and I’m old enough to learn from my mistakes, so don’t apologize for straightening me out.”

“I’m not trying to make you do anything. I’m not trying to put pressure on you, Gabriel.”

Gabriel sighed and closed his eyes. It seemed that those hours of sleep had been anything but restful. “If you don’t drag my attention to where it really belongs, nothing’s ever gonna get set right. I told you, there is a wrong way to do this. Sometimes I see it, and sometimes I don’t. And if you’re going to fight me on that, if you wanna say there’s no 'wrong' way, then how about this? There’s a better way.”

“Well, Jack looked calmer for sure. How about you? You feeling better?”

Gabriel considered, and then shook his head. The lopsidedness of an afternoon cleaved by turbulent slumber had left a stinging headache, and the nightmare had nested in the pit of his stomach, souring his whole body.

“Maybe you shouldn’t have used your grace on me,” Sam lamented. “Don’t try again for a while, okay?”

“It’s not that. I can feel that that’s not what’s wrong with me. It’s what I said to you earlier; it’s me being afraid of everything.”

Sam retook his place on the bed. Although there was no way to see outdoors, Gabriel could feel the afternoon darkening into evening. Neither of them spoke.

He was painfully aware that Sam felt familiar to him. Sam was safe; he wasn’t going to try and harm Gabriel. Somehow that knowledge made everything much more complicated - in part, Gabriel realized, because there seemed no way to explain the feeling without coming off as saccharine, puerile, or both.

Although he was no longer crying (however much he wanted to), Gabriel hoped Sam would touch him. He thought about asking and couldn’t bring himself to say a word.

After several minutes of complete silence, Gabriel spoke. “Did you fight back?”

Sam frowned. “What?”

“The hamster, the gerbil, whatever it was. Did you fight back, or was it too precious to hurt?”

“There wasn’t much I could do. It was vicious.”

“Was it? Or are you just tender-hearted?”

“Gabriel, you saw what it did to my hand.”

Gabriel glanced down at the hand that had been injured. “Yeah. I don’t know, I feel like maybe you didn’t want to hurt the little thing.”

Sam seemed amused. “Why would you say that?”

Gabriel reached out and took Sam’s hand. Sam seemed surprised, but held on firmly.

To Gabriel, Sam understood, that sense of being in the way could not have been more real. Once in a while, it seemed that he was simply trying to accept it - or, worse, that he already had.

One Saturday, early in the morning, Sam found Gabriel already in the library, poring over a stack of volumes which were organized in what looked to Sam like senseless chaos but which Gabriel seemed able to interpret - judging by the way he picked up one book, wrote something down, then leaned across the table to grab another and flip through its pages before readily picking up another book from what seemed an otherwise random location.

“Why are you up so early?” Sam asked Gabriel.

Gabriel did not look up from his work. “Why are you up so early, champ?”

“Are you, you know, all right?”

“Of course I’m all right.”

Sam waited for him to say more. When Gabriel remained silent, Sam said, “Yeah, okay,” and left.

He returned half an hour later with two cups of coffee from a few blocks away.

“Here,” he said, pushing one across the table.

Gabriel looked surprised. “Heya, what’s this, for me?”

“Yeah. You know that sort of upscale place a few blocks over?”

“If by ‘upscale place’ you mean ‘hipster meeting house,’ then yes.”

“Well, it’s a little overpriced, but it’s good stuff. I got you a cappuccino that might taste more like a milkshake based on how much sweet stuff I asked them to mix in. Seeing as you’ve been up since - ”

“Never mind how long I’ve been up. Thanks; that was nice of you. But I thought you didn’t like beverages in the library?”

“Yeah, not when my brother is the one with the beverage. Thanks for all the work you’ve been doing lately.”

Gabriel shrugged. Sam looked more closely at him.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“Nothing.” Slowly, Gabriel lifted the cup and took a sip. “It’s pretty great.” But there was a peculiar expression on his face that, as Sam studied it, grew less peculiar and more familiar: the crease in his brow, the tightness of his lips.

“Gabe,” Sam said.

“What?” Now Gabriel’s eyes were bright and hyper-alert. “What is it?”

Sam sat down across from him. “Something’s bothering you, huh?”

“No.”

“You don’t have to talk about it, but please don’t lie.”

Gabriel waved a dismissive hand. “I’m tired. Ever since that djinn managed to cop some archangel blood in Idaho last week, I’ve felt like I’m recovering from the flu or something.”

"If you're so tired, what are you doing up?"

Gabriel didn't answer.

Sam sighed. “It’s just us, you know. I don’t think anybody else is even awake.”

“Oh please, Cas doesn’t sleep.”

“Well, he’s not here right now, is he? Gabriel, please just don’t feel like you have to hide anything.”

Gabriel closed his eyes. “There’s some stuff that’s hard to explain.”

“Maybe I can help if I have some idea of what’s going through your head.”

“Maybe. But it won’t make any more sense to you than it does to me.”

“Try me.”

“It’s not just that, though. It’s …” Gabriel struggled for a moment. “It’ll make me seem, um …”

Sam thought about suggesting an adjective - childish, psychotic, whiny - based on the laundry list Gabriel had already given him, but decided to wait instead. Sometimes, he observed, their conversations began as morbid rounds of Mad Libs.

“Ungrateful,” Gabriel finished.

Sam frowned. “For what?”

Gabriel avoided Sam’s eyes. “Everything. Asmodeus saw me as a Veruca Salt type. Never satisfied - always demanding more.” He swallowed, and Sam noticed that he had lost some color in his face. “Once in a while, though, he would surprise me with something nice. Food, or drink, or something to keep me warm. I guess maybe he wanted to prevent future bitching from his petulant toy.”

“I don’t know; sounds more like he was messing with you in some way, Gabriel.”

“Maybe.”

“Well, I don’t think of you like that, you know. Neither does anyone else.”

“If I’d been good enough,” Gabriel continued, as though Sam had not spoken, “He wanted to spend time with me - or so he said. He used phrases like ‘good boy’ and ‘sweet pet’ and - well, sorry if you already had breakfast. Look, Sam, the thing is, there’s no pleasure like the pleasure of a beaten dog whose owner sidles in to stroke its bruised spine.” Gabriel paused. “Except you’d think I would never want him near me, wouldn’t you?”

Sam hesitated. “Well, yeah.”

“Mm-hmm. But there was so much relief in those moments - relief at finally seeing proof.”

Sam squinted. “Proof?”

“Proof that what he was saying to me was true. You know, that I was lucky to be there with him - because he was the only one who knew what was good for trash like me. And because he was the only one who knew what that trash was good for. It was a healthy reminder that if I wasn’t his plaything, I’d be useless. And …” Gabriel broke off, making a conscious effort to slow his breathing. “It was my rightful place, Sam. Well - I know now that it wasn’t, but how was I supposed to figure otherwise when I was still down there with him?”

Sam wondered if Gabriel really did know otherwise now, but dismissed the thought.

“And,” Gabriel barreled on, “The euphoria of his affection was always punctuated by a sense of - of ‘Don’t screw this up, Gabriel, not now that he’s shown he can love you.’ But of course I always did find a way to screw things up. There was no pleasing the guy for more than a handful of hours at a time.” Gabriel lowered his eyes, surveying the coffee cup in front of him. “I tried harder at that than I’ve ever tried at anything else, Sam. Chalk it up to having no grace, no power. Or … or maybe I was just that bad at being good enough.”

“Hey.” Sam softened his voice. “I didn’t bring you the coffee because I want you to do anything for me.”

“I get it, I get it; you’re no Asmodeus. You really think I deserve good things.” Gabriel’s smile was cold. “Sam, do you really want to know what shot through my head when you brought this in?”

Sam nodded.

“I - ” But Gabriel paused. Seconds ticked by. Then he said, “I don’t know. It doesn’t make sense even to me.”

“Were you afraid, maybe?"

“I don’t think so, no.”

He was right, Sam thought: Gabriel did not look frightened. This time, there was something else laced through his features, something Sam had been meaning to bring up for a while.

Tentatively, Sam spoke. “Hey, um, Gabriel - do you remember that night a few weeks ago, where you woke up from the nightmare?”

“Oh, you mean that one nightmare I had that one night, that one time, amid countless hours of dreamless slumber?”

Sam sighed. “When you woke up screaming and everybody came running in.”

“No, Sam. Please, paint a more vivid picture so I can add it to my scrapbook.”

“Well, do you remember how I asked you if you … you know … if you missed Asmodeus?”

Gabriel bristled. “Yes. I remember that.”

“I mean …”

Gabriel kept his gaze averted.

“Gabriel,” Sam said quietly, “Sometimes I have the sense you wish that … that he could be the one to come and help. Not me.”

Gabriel shut his eyes. “Do you have any idea how that makes me sound?”

“Um … sad?”

“No. Thankless.”

“You’re still worried about being ungrateful?”

“Uh, yeah, no shit.”

“I’m not accusing you of doing anything wrong. I get it - sort of. I mean, he did give you everything you had, right?”

Gabriel barked what sounded less like laughter and more like a shriek of terror. “And he made mighty sure I knew it. Sam, I don’t want Asmodeus - I want you.”

In that moment, Sam thought he finally understood why Gabriel was disturbed and disgusted by the word “want.” There was something horrendously, nauseatingly powerful about how it sounded coming from Gabriel's mouth.

“Look,” said Gabriel, “It’s just - I - his love was in short supply, and he wasted it on me time and again, and I - I let him down.”

“He didn’t love you, Gabriel.”

“Don't, Sam. Don't say that, all right? I don’t like when you tell me he didn't love me.”

“I’m sorry, Gabe, but it’s true. You can’t think of his treatment as love.”

Gabriel turned away, but not before Sam saw tears in his eyes.

“Crap,” Sam whispered. “I’m sorry. It’s just that I don’t want you to think that the way he handled you is the way you deserve to be treated, that’s all.”

Gabriel shook his head and muttered something.

“What?” asked Sam.

Gabriel cleared his throat. “Um - I failed him.”

“No you didn’t.”

“I tried to be enough.” Gabriel seemed to be speaking more to himself than to Sam now. “I tried to be worth what he was offering.”

Sam reached out and took Gabriel's hand. It was an old gesture of comfort, one that Gabriel almost never rejected - and he didn’t now. “Can you listen to me for a second?”

Without looking at him, Gabriel nodded.

“You could tell me anything at this point, I think - and we’d find a place for it in everything else we’ve had to work through. Okay? If you came to me to say you hate him or miss him or whatever - I mean, I never felt anything like that for Lucifer. I can’t say I ever once felt like I missed him. But all that means is that Lucifer is different from Asmodeus, and I’m a little different from you.”

“Sure, if by ‘different’ you mean - ”

“I don’t mean ‘better.’ I mean different.” Sam squeezed his hand, half-hoping that Gabriel would reciprocate and feeling disappointed when he didn’t. “You need to let me know what’s going through your head even if I might not totally get it. I’m - I’m a little confused, maybe, but not shocked. I don’t have expectations about what you’re going to feel. Whatever you’ve got going on is just part of everything else, okay? Please just - just don’t be scared to bring it up. Even if you were to come to me and tell me you hated me, we could make it fit. We could figure it out.”

All at once, Gabriel went white and jerked his hand out of Sam’s. “I don’t hate you!”

Sam blinked, startled.

“I don’t hate you!” Gabriel repeated. “In what universe would I claim to hate you? Where did that come from?”

“Nowhere! I’m just saying you could confess something super weird and we’d still - ”

“I don’t hate you! Do you think I hate you?”

“No, Gabriel. That’s not what I think.” Sam tried to sound soothing, but the truth was that Gabriel’s reaction might be the exception: Sam was not, in that moment, sure how to incorporate it into the bigger picture.

“I didn’t want to make you think I hated you,” Gabriel insisted. “Jesus, that’s why I didn’t want to tell you about this; I didn’t want to say anything because Dad knows it makes me sound like the spoiled brat Asmodeus always told me I was!”

“Gabriel - ”

“Missing him is betraying you, and I know that; but not missing him is betraying him! Not that I’m worried about that, but - or I am, I think; I mean, I shouldn’t be, but - see, paying any mind to his feelings is pointless, but those moments of - of peace or safety or love or - Sam, they were important.”

“Okay. Hey, hey, listen, buddy - this isn’t about what you owe me. That was your home for a long time, so I get where you’re coming from. Home is home, even if it sucks. Don’t be so angry with yourself over it.”

“Please don’t use that word.” Gabriel’s voice trembled. “Please - don’t try and talk to me about home, okay? Because sometimes I think I want to go home, and then I remember that I have no clue where home is supposed to be - in Hell, maybe, as ludicrous as that sounds; or I guess having no home at all feels more like home than anything else.”

“Wait,” Sam interjected, “You think you don’t have a home?”

“Ah.” Gabriel held up a hand. “Pause. Footnote: there is no consensus among the many factions of my conscience as to whether I have an obligation to make this my home, or if I owe it to all of you to resist the temptation to let myself feel any such thing.”

Before Sam could reply, a new expression passed over Gabriel’s features, one that could not have been mistaken for anything but grief. His face took on the taut, ruddy sadness that Sam had only ever witnessed at memorials.

Slowly, Sam shook his head. “You don’t owe us that. Or anything else.”

Gabriel wiped his eyes. “Yeah, Sam. I do.”

“And you shouldn’t expect yourself to be able to pilot what you do and don’t feel about Asmodeus.”

“I’m not allowed to hope that things will at least make sense? No, of course not. I don’t know what I’m doing. Maybe I expect everybody else to know. Obviously I anticipate that you’ll have all the answers. Another example of just how right he could be about me.”

“What? What are you talking about?”

“Yeah. Spoiled brat, remember?”

“Gabriel, dude … you start going on about yourself like that, you’ll get worked up.”

“Because as you can clearly see, I couldn’t be any damn calmer.” Gabriel scrubbed a hand forcefully, violently, back and forth against his tear-stained cheeks. “I’m stating facts. Picture it: me, feeling anything like grief for him when I have so much more now? That tells you more about me than you should ever have to know. It speaks volumes. Nothing is ever good enough for me, and - and I’m not good enough to make up for always wanting more.”

Sam could now recognize the warning signs in Gabriel’s face - harbingers of delirious panic brought on by memories too heavy to swallow. He saw the pallor, the beads of sweat, the clenched jaw, and owlishly bright eyes.

“Calm down,” he told Gabriel, trying to sound firm without posing a threat. “You’ll make yourself sick if you don’t. Okay?”

“Hmm,” Gabriel offered.

“You’re safe, Gabe. You have to remember that.”

“You know what pisses me off more than anything else right now? What really, really pisses me off?”

“Yeah?”

“That I’ve already got myself too damn sick to even try drinking the coffee you brought. So there you have it; you’ve wasted time and resources on an undeserving son of a - ”

“You can have it later, when you’re ready.”

“I was happy to have it, and then I just - I - I went and screwed things up again.”

“You really didn’t.”

“Sam …” Gabriel lowered his head and ran both hands through his hair. “I … man, I like to think I have more good days than bad. Since imagination is fun and healthy, and I love to walk the deliciously tender line between being an optimist and being a bullshitter.”

“Nobody’s keeping tabs on how many bad days you have. And backsliding is normal. Not ideal, I guess. But normal enough.”

Gabriel snorted. “Great. Feels good to know that everything happening right now is par for the course and I should just roll with it. Sam, this does not feel like it should be normal. Ever. In any context.”

“Then let it be a new version of normal."

“Jesus Christ,” Gabriel muttered. “You know what, Sammy? Let me tell you something about this ‘new normal.’”

“I’m listening.” Truthfully, however, Sam was not sure he wanted to hear. Gabriel didn't sound like he intended to offer any uplifting anecdotes.

“The other night,” Gabriel began, “I had another stupid dream. But this time we’re talking actually stupid, okay? Not just bad, but total gibberish. And when I jerked awake after this circus, I tried to talk myself down: ‘You know your crippled semi-human psyche is playing unpalatable games with itself. Relax, sergeant; take a breath and shimmy your sorry ass back into the present.’ Well, guess freakin’ what, Sam? It didn’t work. I felt frozen and sick and terrified, no matter how hard I wrestled with myself over it. I was so scared just by this flash fiction that had nothing to do with anything at all.”

“What was it?” Sam asked apprehensively.

“A piece of crummy abstract art. There was a shadow on the wall, some formless dark shape with a whole slew of possible identities. One second I felt like maybe I was seeing Dean, then Castiel, and even Jack for a split second there. Not you, though - never you.”

“Good.”

“Yeah, absolutely fabulous. Except that that meant I wanted you. I wanted you immediately. I had this feeling that each one of the others was evil, corrupt, gruesome - hungry for some Gabriel meat. So when I woke up, all I wanted was you. I wanted you so damn much, Sam.”

Sam’s blood ran cold. “Why didn’t you come get me, then?”

“Well, because all through this titillating romp into dreamland, I was thinking that as much as I was dying to call for help, I had no right to pester you. You didn’t need extra demands from your pesky houseguest. The last thing you deserved - and before you get on my case about it, this is just what was going through my head as I was dreaming; I couldn’t stop it - was Little Orphan Archangel to come whining to you about how the people you loved and trusted were out to get me.”

“I wouldn’t have - ”

“So when I woke up, you think I was ready to drag you into my umpteenth midnight meltdown? You needed sleep. And me, having no dignity, no control, not an ounce of self-respect - I curled up in bed and started bawling and then I squealed your name over and over again into my knees as if I expected your spidey senses to tingle and you’d come to rescue me from my own dadforsaken self. But there was also a very real possibility - or at least it felt real, you’ve got to understand that - that I’d go looking for you, and you’d be rightfully pissed off that I hadn’t allowed this shadow bitch to take me away.”

Sam stood up. Alarm flickered across Gabriel’s face. But then Sam crouched in front of him and said, “That kind of thing, Gabe? That kind of thing where you’re actually hurting yourself just to save face, or because you have it in your head that you shouldn’t be allowed access to compassion?” He cleared his throat in a hasty attempt to keep himself together. “That counts as an emergency. Always. Even if it happens ten times a day.”

Gabriel looked discomfited. “Sam - ”

“Don’t sit there and let him do that to you. Please. When that happens, you need help and you can’t afford to pretend you can wait for it.”

“I - ” Gabriel turned his face away. “Sam - ”

“What? What about that sounds so impossible to you?”

“It’s - it’s like I’ve said, I can’t live up to what you’re looking to get from me.”

“Gabriel, for the last time, I’m not looking for you to give me anything!”

“No, you are; you want me to heal, and I don’t know if I can. I certainly don’t have it in me right now - not yet.” Sam saw tears in his eyes. “And I’m sorry for that. I’m a tough nut to crack open and I get that. I exhaust you, though. Now, that’s partly on you for feeding into this idea that you can make me better, but mostly I’m just a difficult patient. I keep fighting your efforts.”

“You’re not putting up a fight with me. You’re fighting Asmodeus.”

“Oh yeah? If I’m working so hard to get him off my conscience, then riddle me this: why the hell should I feel anything other than total revulsion for him? Why is it that I think to myself, ‘I’m terrified and alone and I hope he shows up to help’? I couldn’t justify that if you paid me. And you can’t make this shit up, Sam. This is raw nonsense straight from the mind of a lost cause.”

“You’re allowed to grieve. I can’t say I understand; I haven’t been there. But it isn’t weird that you’d miss him sometimes.”

“Yeah, well, maybe it wouldn’t be weird if you didn’t happen to be around.”

“You had him for hundreds and hundreds of years. And he was the only thing you had. He was everything to you.”

Gabriel groaned. “When you put it that way, it sounds so gross. It really does.”

“You can’t just replace everything you had with something new, and expect it to feel like home. At least not right away.”

Gabriel kept his gaze averted. No further tears had spilled from his eyes, although Sam could tell that, if Gabriel was going to put up a real fight, it was in response to the urge to cry.

“Please,” Sam said. “Please don’t keep yourself locked away when you wake up like that, or when you feel like something’s wrong. I’m right here; we’re all right here. We’ll connect the dots where we can, okay? But come on - I mean, who even really cares? It’s a language - sort of. Or not. Maybe just a bunch of made-up words that we can use to create a language of our own. Can we look at it that way?”

Gabriel jerked his head - not quite a nod, not quite a refusal. “Impressively well fleshed-out for an improvised metaphor, Sam.”

“I really hate the picture you just painted. I hate that you didn’t go looking for someone, anyone, just because you were afraid of being a nuisance.”

Gabriel shook his head. “I - Sam, I couldn’t get anybody else. It had to be you.”

“So I would’ve helped you.”

“And are you forgetting the very real possibility that it could have reminded you of your own experience in the pit?”

“I guess it could have, sure. It didn’t just now. But even if it did, can we maybe not pay that any attention unless it actually becomes an issue? For now, I want you to worry about yourself - not about me.”

“Perfect. Seeing as I’ve been provided explicit instructions to avoid worrying about you, it’s smooth sailing from here on out. Thanks, Sam. Now I don’t have to concern myself with whether or not you’re keeping your own head above water. And if the message isn’t clear, let me translate: shut up and let me care about you, you self-effacing dingleberry.”

“I’m serious. In moments like that, you have to put everything else on hold; you’ve got to look for help first thing. Like I said, it’s an emergency. Imagine if it were Jack. You’d want to - ”

“Stop right there. Don’t put that image in my head, and don’t compare Jack to me. He’s an entirely different species, Sam, and I’m not just talking about his human DNA.”

Sam raised his eyebrows. “Okay?”

“He’s not me, he’s nothing like me; there’s nothing wrong with that kid. I don’t even like that he has to breathe the same air as me - so don’t insult him by pretending like the two of us deserve the same treatment.” Gabriel’s face was flushed. “And now I can’t shake that scenario you just threw into my brain and it’s making me feel like I have to puke.”

“I’m sorry,” Sam told Gabriel, and meant it: he didn’t like the vision either. After a moment’s consideration, he decided not to address some of the more problematic themes wrapped in Gabriel’s protestations. So he went on, “It doesn’t matter to me how many times you find yourself in that position, okay? It’s just as important if it happens once a week or every night for a month, Gabriel. I promise one of us can help, and if it has to be me then get me right away. Text me if you have to; I keep my phone next to my bed. You won’t get better if you keep this up. You won’t heal if you let these feelings just rot inside of you.” Sam’s knees were aching from his crouched position, so he stood up again and sat back down, this time in the chair beside Gabriel’s. “You don’t need to abuse yourself the way he did. Asmodeus wasn’t giving you love or anything else that you needed. And now you’re hurting yourself more by throwing away the real thing because you think you shouldn’t have it.”

Gabriel’s face was hard and closed-off, but the tears finally slipped free and he turned further away in a limp attempt to conceal them.

Not even sure where the question was coming from, or why he was asking it, Sam said: “What’s scaring you?”

He anticipated silence, or a tense “Nothing.” So he was taken aback when Gabriel replied, “I’m waiting for your speech. Your tactful ‘you and I both know it’s time for you to leave the Bunker’ speech.”

Sam balked. “Excuse me?”

“No one’s accusing you of intent to actually do it,” Gabriel told him. “I’m just answering the question: that’s what I’m afraid of.”

“I’m not - ”

“I know. I’m still scared of it, and I’m sorry about that.”

“Nobody here wants you to leave. Especially not me. I want you to stick around until you get sick of us.” Sam wondered if Gabriel could hear the tightness in his own throat. “I’m not changing my mind about that because you feel like you miss Asmodeus; I can be better than he was.”

“You think I don’t know that already? I’m sad, not simple. But that's just the issue: you’re providing your best, and I’m not taking it like I should be. Come on, doesn’t it make you feel just a little bit unappreciated to hear me say ‘I wish Asmodeus could be here to help’?”

“No, but it makes me worry about how bad he screwed with your mind.”

Gabriel didn’t reply, and Sam didn’t press him. In the distance, he could hear people moving around - probably Dean getting coffee, or Jack getting cereal, or both of them.

“Listen,” Gabriel said finally, “I hope you know I can see the difference. You’re not him; you couldn’t be any less like him. You’d never, ever do to me what he did to me, and I hate that, and I love that. It’s just that he did give me something - something I don’t know how to describe, if it wasn’t love. I wish he hadn’t played those games with me, but he did; he played them like they were guitar picks and I was an out-of-tune six-string. And you’ve gotta understand - what was I supposed to do, you know? When I got those glimpses of kindness? How could I not give in and just - just be happy about them? How could I not be scared to death that he would change his mind? And how could I not hate everything about myself when he inevitably made it clear that that kindness had been a mistake?”

Sam realized he couldn’t speak, so he only nodded.

“But,” Gabriel pleaded, “I don’t want him. I don’t want Asmodeus, Sam; I want you.”

Sam swallowed. “Good. Because I’m here.” He cleared his throat. “Hey - since you’re in the swing of it, what else do you want right now?”

Gabriel leaned away. “What?”

“Right now. What do you want? Tell me.”

Gabriel floundered. “I - um. Nothing.”

Sam waited.

“Um,” Gabriel stammered, “The coffee, I guess.”

Sam passed it to him. “Might be cold.”

“I don’t care. But, uh - ”

“You want something else?”

“No.”

“You were going to ask.”

“I …” Gabriel shuddered. Sam had the urge to wrap a blanket around him. Perhaps after this he would offer to take him back to Sam’s own bedroom and let him get a few hours of sleep there.

Gabriel opened his arms.

"Oh," said Sam, and leaned forward.

Gabriel didn't speak, but he did relax into the embrace.